Trust
by Aggie2011
Summary: When SHIELD assigns Clint a mission to take down a black market arms dealer in South Africa, Tony is hired as a "consultant" to join him. But when unexpected events lead to their capture, the two men must learn to work together if they're going to get out of South Africa alive. Established BlackHawk and whole team appears
1. I Just Wanna Live While I'm Alive

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_This is the same plotline/universe of **Vantage Point** as you can tell from the very first part of the chapter :D If you haven't read my first Avengers story, you won't be too terribly confused, but you won't understand some references either. I leave it up to you on whether or not you read it first :)...I hope you all enjoy this one!_

* * *

_Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves great- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

"Deep breath, Agent Barton."

Clint obediently inhaled as deeply as he could, hiding any signs of discomfort as the doctor's fingers pressed the just healed wound on his back. Getting stabbed sucked. Getting stabbed in the lung sucked worse.

"You're lungs are clear, so far so good."

"They were clear _last_ week when you accosted me into getting naked for you _then_…I should report you for sexual harassment."

Bruce blinked at him, mildly amused.

"Do you want me to make sure you'll be good to go tomorrow, or not?" He questioned with an arched eyebrow. "And if I wanted to get you naked, I'd like to think I'd be more successful." He added with a smirk, motioning at the pants Clint still had firmly around his waist.

"Bruce, you're making me blush." Clint feigned embarrassment.

"Nothing makes you blush." Natasha refuted as she strode into the room.

"You _would_ know." Clint admitted with a mischievous smirk in her direction. She ignored him.

"How's he looking?"

"His lungs are clear and the wound is healed nicely…if he's not lying about there being no more pain, then I'd say he's fully recovered...if he'd stayed in bed like he should have, he'd probably be cleared already."

"_He's_ right here." Clint pointed out as he yanked his shirt on. So he hadn't stayed in bed for the prescribed amount of time, he and Bruce _both_ knew he'd still made a remarkably swift recovery. The Doc just liked to bust his chops about following the rules. Coulson used to do that too. He saw Natasha's eyes flash with something and he sent her a quelling look. There was no way he was letting her send Bruce into a mother-hen frenzy by revealing the ache that seemed to have permanently settled around his stab wound.

She gave him an icy glare that promised _she_ wouldn't let it slide, even if she kept his secret. He shrugged one shoulder. He'd expected as much.

Bruce watched the silent exchange in confusion. The way those two communicated with looks was downright scary sometimes. Whether it was shared looks of annoyance over something or full conversations, that they could do it without speaking baffled the rest of the team to no end. Bruce cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

"I for one am ready to have you fighting with us again...the other guy misses you and he's been a little _frustrated_ with how long it's taken you to heal up." Bruce mused as he walked them to the door of the infirmary.

"Tell me about it." Natasha muttered too low for Bruce to hear, but Clint tossed her a smile. "He's right," her tone returned to normal, "Hulk has been particularly cranky lately...keeps asking when "arrow man" is coming back."

Clint smirked. "I didn't know he'd gotten so attached."

"Clint Barton!"

The tall blonde Asgardian strode towards them, arms spread wide.

"Thor." He greeted with a genuine grin. Ever since Tony had helped the big guy track down Jane, he'd been in and out of the tower, splitting time between visiting her, returning to Asgard, and returning when they needed his help. They didn't get to see him very much.

"Have your ailments healed enough for me to offer you the traditional Midgardian farewell?"

"You're leaving?" Clint frowned. He hadn't even gotten to see the big man since he'd returned from Nevada where he'd been visiting Jane.

"I must return to my home in Asgard, the high council is holding court and my presence is of upmost importance as they only hold court three times in every Asgardian king's lifetime. This marks my father's third...the next will be under my rule."

Clint nodded. Thor spread his arms, his eyes questioning.

"Go ahead, big guy."

Thor smiled widely and wrapped Clint in the equivalent of an Asgardian bear hug. The archer glared at Natasha when she smiled evilly as his feet ended up a foot off the floor. His ribs creaked and after indulging the hammer wielder for a moment, he patted him on the back.

"Okay…need to breathe now."

Thor returned him back to the ground and Clint stumbled back a step, a small smile on his face. The warrior god was a teddy bear; Clint wouldn't let anyone tell him differently.

"Steve tells me you will be returning to our numbers soon, is it so?"

"I have my evaluation tomorrow." Clint nodded. "I should be back in the field by lunch."

"That is wonderful news!" Thor boomed, turning to follow them as they continued away from the infirmary. "I will hasten to return to this realm so I may fight at your noble side once again, Archer."

"Sounds good, Big Guy." Clint grinned as they came into the kitchen.

"Clint! How'd it go?" Steve greeted them with a smile from where he was making a simple ham sandwich.

"Doc says I'm all clear."

"That's great! We've missed you out there."

"He's been gone? I hadn't noticed." Tony tossed out flippantly as he strode into the room. "Though there have been distinctly less feathers lying around."

"Don't listen to him." Steve gave Clint an apologetic smile, but he needn't have worried. Clint was beyond letting anything Stark said bother him. He'd had three months of comments about everything from his wings being clipped to being careful not to fall out of his nest.

"Three months to get cleared…I was Iron Man within a month after being tortured."

"No you weren't." Natasha called him out bluntly.

"How would you know, you weren't sent to spy on me yet." Tony shot back.

"How about I stab _you_, Stark…then we can compare recoveries." Clint joined in.

"Now now, Big Bird, don't let your feathers get ruffled."

"Bird jokes? That the best you got, Tin Can?"

"Hey, I just stick to what provides the best material…it's either that or call you Katniss Everdeen."

Tony glanced around at the five blank looks he was getting.

"Really?" He asked in shock.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.

"Alright…those two," he pointed at Thor and Steve, "I understand…and even Big Green here has the excuse of forcing himself into exile for the past several years…but you two," He stared at Natasha and Clint, "that's just sad."

"Enough, Tony." Steve sighed.

"No really…_The Hunger Games_?" he looked around, "Anyone? That's dancing close to being criminal….what do they teach you people at SHEILD."

"How to kill people without leaving any traceable evidence." Natasha replied a hint of a smirk on her lips. Tony's eye twitched as he tried to figure out if she was threatening him.

Clint rolled his eyes and took Steve's sandwich from him. He deconstructed it quickly and started putting it back together with several more ingredients added. He slid it back Steve absently and started making one for himself and one for Natasha. The Captain regarded it with skeptical eyes waiting for an encouraging nod from Natasha before he bit into it. Clint hid his smile at the super soldier's immediate wide eyed enjoyment.

Natasha took her sandwich when it was offered and moved to sit next to Steve. Clint filled the stool on the other side of her.

"Where's my sandwich?" Tony questioned.

Clint ignored him.

"How very un-Mother Goosey of you… so disappointing."

Bruce sipped a bottle of apple juice watching the exchange with interest. Clint was the only one of the group that could take Tony's constant babbling without reaction. Had to be something to do with his patience level. Steve usually stuck it out like a trooper before kindly lying about having something to do. Thor, when he was there, just looked at him in confusion before walking away without explanation. Natasha tended to cause him bodily harm; Tony didn't talk to her very much. And Bruce, he had mastered steering the man towards scientific conversation. Pepper, as far as Bruce had noticed, babbled just as much. The two spoke over each other so much it was often hard to track the conversation. Clint, though, he actually managed to fire back with growing consistency. Granted the two men argued almost any time they spoke, so name calling had become an issue none of them knew how to deal with.

Some of them were impressively creative.

But that was neither here nor there.

Bruce was sure, now that Clint was officially off the injured list, the clashes between the two were certain to grow in intensity.

* * *

After seeing Thor off, Clint strode into the SHIELD base like he always did, like he owned it. He ignored the wide eyed looks he got from new recruits who had only heard rumors of the famous Hawkeye. The man who _never_ missed. The man who had killed his own.

He ignored the hateful glares of the friends of the agents he'd killed 9 months ago during the Loki incident. He, with the help of Phil and Bruce, had forgiven himself for what was never his fault to begin with. The SHIELD agents who still held a grudge could kiss his ass. That didn't mean he enjoyed being in the same square mile as them, though. The temptation to wipe the hate filled looks off their faces got stronger the longer he was exposed to them.

He knocked once on Director Fury's office door and waited. In his younger years, Fury had taken great pleasure in making him wait outside his door for ridiculous amounts of time. No doubt it was an attempt to curb Clint's blatant problems with authority.

Those problems had cropped up after his mentor in the circus betrayed him and tried to kill him. It had carried over into the Army, but lucky for him, he'd been too damn good for his CO to do more than reprimand him.

It was hard to out wait a man with Clint's patience though, and the Director's attempts had been so unsuccessful that Fury had given up. Especially after one particular incident of Clint bombarding a group of recruits with tiny paper balls to pass the time.

"Enter!"

The prompt command cued him to push the door open. He sent a mocking glare of his shoulder to the many agents staring at him. Not just anyone got to meet with the Director face to face. He wanted all of them to know he was still top dog in this place. Call it pride, but it felt damn good to see them all quickly lower their eyes and return to work.

He closed the door behind him, dropped into parade rest, and glanced at the clock. He was two minutes early. Phil would have been shocked.

"Ready for your evaluation, Agent Barton?" Fury asked casually as he rifled through some papers on his desk.

"I was ready two weeks ago, sir." Clint replied easily. Fury raised his one eye to regard him.

"That's not what Banner said."

_Traitor_. Clint thought. If it wasn't for the green guy on the other side of the coin, he'd totally retaliate for that betrayal in a very creative way.

"Well then I'm ready now, sir."

"Good…I need you back in the field yesterday…there's this thing in South Africa…" Fury shook his head. "I'll brief you later, as you know, normally a Return to Field Evaluation is done by the agent's handler…but given you unique circumstance, we've had to get creative."

_Unique circumstance, my ass._ Clint grumbled in his head. _Phil was dead, why was everyone afraid to say it around him._

"Creative, sir?"

"Yes, there is a group of agents up for their semi-annual evaluations…you'll go through the process with them."

"Sir?" Clint couldn't help but be surprised. He hadn't done an evaluation with any agent but Natasha in years. Phil had always handled all of their evaluations in private. It wouldn't be fair to put him _or_ Natasha in with regular agents.

"I know it's not what you're used to, Barton...but I don't have another option right now...I've got all my trainers tied up with new recruits and not enough personnel to handle evals...make it work."

Clint's eyes hardened and his posture straightened. The only reason they had such an influx of recruits was because of the Loki incident. SHIELD had been trying to rebuild their numbers ever since.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, now get going, they're scheduled to start in 10 minutes."

* * *

Clint stretched out his back as he eyed the rest of the agents on the training grounds. After the Loki incident, the people at SHIELD had looked at him like he was a wolf among the sheep. What they didn't realize is, he'd always been the wolf, and they just hadn't seen it until Loki. It didn't mean Clint liked being looked at like a traitor, though.

He'd checked in with the agent doing the evaluations when he got to the grounds. Roberts was his name. Clint didn't know him, but the guy seemed to know him. He'd looked at him with awe instead of hate, though. So Clint decided not to give him a hard time. He wasn't Coulson and probably wouldn't take it very well. He had enough people that didn't like him.

He watched everyone around him, keeping his back to no one out of habit. The entire group wore the same black Nike athletic shorts and gray SHIELD t-shirt; their last names were printed across their shoulders. He passed the time memorizing faces and names.

"I can't believe they let that traitor stay…they even send him on missions still."

Clint didn't turn his head to look at the two agents talking to his left. Connors and Matthews. He didn't know them personally, just two more names and faces he'd committed to memory. They were whispering, probably didn't think he could hear them. But Clint's sight wasn't the only sense he had that was nearly supernaturally attuned.

"I hear Fury still calls him one of the _best_ agents SHIELD has…best at killing his own more like it." Matthews replied.

Clint remained unmoved.

"Why is he doing the eval with us? Shouldn't he be isolated from the group…what if he decides to start offing agents again?" Connors wondered.

Clint smirked to himself. He was seriously considering it at this point. Starting with those two chuckleheads.

"I heard his old handler got killed when he brought that alien dude on the helicarrier…its why he has to do the eval with us…I bet his handler knew he was a traitor…and that's why they killed him…"

Clint's eyes darkened.

_Those ass hats are going down._

He decided as the trainer called the group over to the obstacle course. They could call him a traitor all day. But to insinuate that Phil got killed for anything short of heroic bravery, with a healthy mix of stupidity, was unacceptable.

* * *

Natasha leaned over the railing overlooking the training grounds. The evaluation was halfway over. The agents were in the middle of their run right now. She smirked when she saw Clint was half a lap ahead of the rest of the group and gaining ground.

"Agent Romanoff."

She didn't turn to acknowledge Fury as he came to stand with her.

"How's he been doing?" Fury asked with uncharacteristic concern hidden in his voice. Natasha was a master of reading what was supposed to be hidden, though.

"Better."

"Glad to hear it." Fury nodded.

"He and Stark are clashing, though." Natasha admitted, watching Clint lap the slowest of the group.

"I could have predicted that...their attitudes are too similar not to cause fireworks."

"It hasn't been un-entertaining." She arched an eyebrow.

They watched Clint advance to the middle of the group. Even from their distance, they could see the shock on some of the agent's faces.

"He's a fast little bastard isn't he?" Fury observed.

Natasha didn't reply, knowing what they were witnessing was evidence enough to that point.

"I've got a mission for you." the Director revealed abruptly.

"With Barton?" She asked, barely managing not to betray her hopefulness.

"No."

"But he's going to pass his eval," She motioned to the training grounds, "_that's_ obvious."

"I have another mission for Barton, something involving National Security."

"You're splitting us up." She realized. "You haven't split us up since Loki, why now?" She glared. Fury was unaffected.

"He couldn't handle it until now… you said yourself he's doing better."

Natasha glared at him, furious he was using her own words against her.

"That doesn't mean he needs to be doing a mission _alone_…he _just_ healed from getting stabbed in the lung."

"Are you implying he's not at 100%?" Fury questioned sharply.

"Clint at 60% is ten times better than any of your other agents at 100%, you know that." Natasha defended her partner. "I know he could handle it, but there isn't any need to take the unnecessary risk."

"I agree, which is why I'm not sending him alone."

"You're partnering him with someone _else_?" Natasha hissed.

"Not a SHIELD agent if that's what you're concerned about."

"Who?"

"That's classified."

Natasha rolled her eyes, looking back at Clint as he pulled back ahead of the group.

"He's been outscoring everyone down there...by a _very_ wide margin...he's my best agent, besides you."

"Including me." She corrected quietly. Clint would always be a better agent than her, because he saw the big picture she couldn't always see.

"That's why I know he'll be fine." Fury assured. "The run is over." He observed, "Ready to watch Barton wipe the sparring mat with the rest of these guys?" He smirked. He didn't have favorites, if he did, it definitely wouldn't be the smart ass, _pain_ in the ass, Barton. But the kid had undeniable talent. And it was damn entertaining to watch him fight.

"Better warn medical." Natasha smirked back.

* * *

Clint knew she was watching. He'd felt her eyes on him during the run, and he had caught a glimpse of her with Fury on the observation deck as the evaluation group prepared for the final part of the eval, sparring. Then Clint would be off to the medic for his final check up and he'd be officially back on active duty.

They all stood bordering the sparring mat. Roberts was in the middle.

"Time for a single elimination sparring tournament, just because I'm bored and I know you all know how to spar." The trainer announced. A few chuckles rose from the group. "You all know the rules, winner stays on the mat, loser is out of the running. Last man standing wins…I'll be grading you based on your skills, not on whether or not you win, so no cheating."

Clint smirked inwardly. He hadn't lost a sparring tournament since his first week of training nine years ago. Granted, he hadn't participated in one in over seven years. Coulson had pulled him from general training just over a year and half after he'd come to SHIELD. He'd started his specialized training after that, training to be a deadly shadow. When Natasha had come, she'd become his sparring partner. She had wiped the floor with him the first time they met on the mat. He had laughed, and told her same time the next day. His own skills had sky rocketed with her as a partner. He hadn't met anyone that could match him since. Natasha could still kick his ass though, when he wasn't careful. Just like he could do the same to her, when she got sloppy...that didn't happen often though.

"Matthews and Barton." The trainer announced. Clint couldn't help the predatory smirk that overtook his features. Roberts must have noticed the tension between them throughout the morning. "Barton, try not to cause any serious injury." The trainer requested quietly. Clint smirked again. At least his reputation in hand-to-hand was still respected.

"I'm not scared of this traitor…do your worst, Barton." Matthew hissed.

Clint cocked his head to the side, regarding him, sizing him up. Matthew shifted uncomfortably. Barton was looking at him like he would image a lion looked at a rabbit before he ate it for lunch. Before Matthews could decide what his first move was going to be, Barton moved. A simple, but effective, aerial spin kick put Matthew on the ground unconscious.

The entire group gaped in awe. On the observation deck, Natasha smirked.

Roberts grinned briefly and motioned Connors onto the mat. The ebony haired agent swallowed, watching with wide eyes as his friend was carried to the medics. Deciding he should attack before Barton could do the same to him; he stepped forward and lashed out with a left jab. But Barton wasn't there anymore, he was behind him, kicking his knees out from under him and drawing his fist back to deliver the final blow.

"Give!" Connors announced quickly, hands up in surrender. Barton's storm colored eyes were emotionless as Connors stared up at him. Hawkeye stood, giving Connors room to do the same.

He turned to look at Roberts to see who was next. He sensed the attack before it ever had a chance at landing. He spun, knocking Connor's fist away and delivering a solid, open palmed hit to the man's sternum, knocking him back. He followed up with a sharp kick to his thigh, which made the whole limb collapse and the man's body twist at the sudden loss of support. Clint spun, snapping his elbow into Connor's back, between the shoulder blades. The man fell to his hands and knees, and Clint put him down with a firm fist to the temple. It was hard enough to subdue him, but not knock him out. He didn't think Roberts would appreciate him causing two concussions in one exercise.

The whole exchange lasted less than seven seconds. Even the trainer was slack jawed.

"Only because I don't want my entire group in the infirmary, Barton, you pass…head to medical for your check up." Roberts instructed. Clint shrugged, unconcerned, and headed out of the room.

* * *

Above them, Natasha smirked at Fury, who was trying to hide his own grin, and headed to meet her partner at the medic. She stopped him just before he headed into the exam room.

"Hey, Barton." She greeted. "Nice moves back there."

"You liked that?" He smirked. "I've got even better moves I could show you later."

"Looking forward to it." She grinned coyly. "Last step." She pointed at the exam room.

"About damn time, too…I should have been cleared two weeks ago." He grumbled.

"You were still having trouble breathing two weeks ago." She shot back, eyebrow arched.

"I could have hid-" Clint broke off when someone bodily knocked into his shoulder from behind. Someone coming out of medical. Matthews. Whatever the agent had apparently opened his mouth to say was lost when he got two menacing glares for SHIELD's two most deadly assassins.

"Apologize." Natasha ordered, her tone terrifying.

"S-sorry, Bar…_Agent_ Barton…" He stuttered, turning tail and walking away as quickly as he could.

"I think you made him piss his pants." Clint chuckled, watching the guy retreat.

"I heard some rumors that he and a couple others have been giving you a hard time." Natasha arched an eyebrow in question.

"Yeah well…there's a reason I don't like coming here." He shrugged. "It's not the same without Phil."

"Yeah." She agreed quietly, searching his eyes for any sign of the soul crushing guilt that had plagued him for so long. Instead she just saw sadness, and longing.

"I just miss him, Tasha…that's all." He assured quietly.

She nodded and glanced over at the door to medical.

"Guess I should get this show on the road." He mused, heading towards the door.

"I'll be here when you're cleared." She pointed towards the waiting room. He nodded over his shoulder and pushed into the room.

* * *

Clint has always hated medical. Mostly because he was usually there because he'd gotten hurt or someone he cared about had gotten hurt. Phil used to serve as a fairly effective distraction. Now the whole place just gave him chills; and not just because they kept it unrighteously cold in the exam rooms.

"Sit there and take off your shirt." The doctor ordered. "You were stabbed three months ago…the knife punctured your lung…you're here to get cleared for active duty." He summarized dispassionately. Clint knew he was just another chart to this guy. He suddenly wished it was Bruce giving him this exam. At least Bruce actually seemed to care if he passed or not...and wouldn't fail him for being a smart ass.

Nevertheless, Clint did as he was instructed. He sat with his back ramrod straight, not even flinching when the cold stethoscope touched his back.

"Deep breath."

Clint sucked in the cold air of the exam room.

"Out."

He forced the air out of his lungs.

"Again."

This went on for several minutes, as the doctor moved the stethoscope around to different parts of his back. Finally he turned away to write something on his chart. Clint waited patiently.

"Any pain around the wound?" The doctor asked clinically.

"No." It wasn't a total lie. He didn't think an ache was the same as pain. At least not to him.

As if to test him, the doctor poked and prodded the pink puckered scar. Clint kept his muscles relaxed and his face impassive. Years of anti-interrogation training had taught him to hide even the worst pain. The near constant ache that originated around that wound was easy compared to the time he'd had to protect Natasha's location with a salted bullet wound, a fractured cheekbone, a dislocated shoulder, three broken fingers, four broken ribs, after a round of water boarding. _Good times._

"You're cleared Agent Barton." The doctor signed his chart and turned away.

Effectively dismissed, Clint pulled his shirt back on and left the way he'd come. Natasha rose gracefully from her seat and fell into step with him.

"You're back?"

"I'm back."

* * *

End of Chapter 1

So I realize there isn't a lot of plot development in this chapter. But I thought it was fitting to show the transition from _Vantage Point_ and how things had developed since then. I've finished the whole story and I promise that Clint and Tony are going to be the center of it.

I'm going to update daily :)

Reviews make me happy!

Here's your preview of Chapter 2:

* * *

_"Clint." Natasha's voice rang out in warning across the room. The archer ignored her and advanced. Tony finally had the fight he'd been looking for, but he realized belatedly that he didn't have a hope of keeping up. It wasn't until Clint threw himself into a half cartwheel, his legs coming up to scissor around Tony's chest, and then slam him to the ground, did Tony decide this had been a mistake, his biggest one in a while._

_"That's gonna leave a mark." Tony gasped, wondering if there was a phone ringing or if that was in his head._


	2. Luck Ain't Even Lucky

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_Thanks to_ **blackdog-lz**,** Mirror's Mirage,** **Reteka Hyuuga, Clovely-little-me, M J Rosemary,** **Strawberrywaltz**,** ginnytwin95, Fyroni, anon, tic tac toe 03, GHOST oo007, SPN4eva556, ILoveSupernatural, Amy, BrokenSky49, Liliththestormgoddess, **and** CyanB**_ who are__ all my first chapter reviewers! You rock my socks right off my feet!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_Effectively dismissed, Clint pulled his shirt back on and left the way he'd come. Natasha rose gracefully from her seat and fell into step with him._

_"You're back?"_

_"I'm back."_

* * *

_You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough.- Frank Crane_

* * *

Later, neither Clint nor Tony would admit who was at fault.

The whole team except for Bruce, who was working in the peaceful quiet of his room, and Thor, who was back on Asgard, was in the training room.

Steve and Natasha were sparring, with the assassin trying to teach the soldier some of the points of combat he'd missed over the last 70 years. Tony was sparring with his trainer and Clint was jumping around in the rafters like a monkey. Or at least that was how Tony had referred to him.

Tony frowned when his trainer asked for a break. He glanced towards the Russian and Stars and Stripes but they were intensely focused on what they were doing and didn't even glance in his direction. Pursing his lips momentarily, a flying shadow caught his attention.

"Hey, George of the Jungle, wanna go a few rounds?"

He looked up in time to see Clint flip acrobatically across the entire length of the room, using only the steel girders as platforms for his hands and feet. Tony tilted his head curiously to the side as he watched Clint eye the gymnast bar below him. Without hesitation, he jumped, flipping in a tight ball once before stretching out in time to catch his hands on the highest bar. He used his fall's natural momentum to spin his body around a few times before releasing the bar and flipping acrobatically to the ground.

"I definitely give you points for the landing, twinkle toes, but I'm deducting for style." Tony informed as Clint made his way over to him.

"Laugh it up Iron Ass, but _me_ being able to do _that_," He pointed to the ceiling, "Will save your life someday."

"I don't need you saving my life at all, Tweety, that's what the suit is for."

"I don't see the suit now." Clint pointed out as he slid into the sparring ring.

"Is that a threat, Feather Head?" Tony grinned.

"Guess you'll find out." Clint smirked stretching out his arms and eyeing Tony in a particularly predatory way.

* * *

Natasha glanced over when she noticed Clint had left the rafters. Her eyebrow arched as she watched him climb into the ring with Tony.

"Oh that's not a good idea." She stated to no one in particular.

Steve glanced up from where he was working on his footwork and followed her line of sight.

"Uh Tony!" She called out, trying to warn him.

"Not now, Stalin, Daddy's busy." Tony shouted back.

Natasha shrugged.

"You saw me try." She directed at Steve, who was looking confused.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Clint is a highly trained, _very_ skilled assassin…Stark…is Stark."

"Right." Steve nodded suddenly understanding. He turned to watch the approaching match with interest.

* * *

Clint held his stance loosely, watching with amused eyes as Stark mockingly danced around him. He glanced at Natasha, and winked. She smirked back and Clint returned his attention to Tony in time to narrowly avoid a right cross. He leaned away from it, chuckling.

"Whoa, tiger, a little eager, are we?"

"Just jealous you weren't paying attention to me." Tony shot back, taking another swing. Clint ducked under it.

"Yeah, well, she's a lot better looking."

"Fair point," Tony conceded, trying to land a few more hits, but ending up swinging at air every time, "Mind if I look at her too?"

Clint laughed.

"That's up to you, Lead Head, but her's is the permission I'd be worried about. She's killed guys for less."

Tony took another couple swings, surprised when he the lithe archer ducked or dodged every attempt. Clint wasn't even breathing hard. And his hands were fisted loosely at about waste height. It was getting insulting.

"Trying to give me a cold with all that fanning?" Clint taunted, easily dodging another blow and dancing out of reach. Tony's eyes narrowed. That _was_ insulting. Good thing he could give as good as he got.

"You always fight like you're scared to take a swing?"

"I'm a patient man, Stark…I'm just biding my time."

"I've heard patience is a vice." Tony countered.

Clint dodged a few more attempts, casually tripping Tony up as he spun away. Tony glared over his shoulder when he heard Natasha snicker.

He turned to face Clint again, a little more seriously.

Clint cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Tony stalked forward, determined to land at least one hit. He swung his left arm around wide, and to his surprise, not only did Clint duck under it, but he kicked Tony's legs out from under him. He crashed heavily onto his back. He watched Clint step away and nearly growled in frustration. He kicked out, taking out Clint's knees and sending the archer to the mat as well.

"Take that, Cupid." Tony smirked as he pushed himself to his feet. He blinked in surprise when Clint rolled easily into a reverse somersault and to his feet with scary ease. "I asked to go a few rounds, not shadow box." Tony complained.

"This is how I fight, Stark." Clint defended refusing to acknowledge how the ache in his back was slowly fading into actual pain.

"Like a pussy?"

Clint's eyes narrowed.

"_Stop fighting like a pussy, Barton!" Williams growled._

Clint blinked the memory away, his fists tightening. It was the wound on his back; he told himself, that was what brought back the memory of his showdown with his old unit mate. It wasn't Stark's fault. He forced his fists to loosen and responded.

"With _patience_. You should try it sometimes, Stark, you might actually get somewhere...and I can think of at least one woman that would be offended by that remark...considering she could kill you with a paperclip."

"Yeah whatever...Right now, you're boring me…my trainer was more fun during his water break."

"You _want_ me to try and hit you?" Clint laughed. "That's not in your best interest, _trust me_."

"You don't scare me, Legolas." Tony arched an eyebrow.

"I should." Clint's eyes hardened. He'd been insulted enough today. Those assholes at the eval this morning already had him in a sour mood and now his back was hurting, _again_.

"I think the reason you fight like that, Casper, is the same reason you stick to the shadows, in the air vents, or up in the rafters…you're too afraid to actually engage in _anything_." Stark baited, hoping to get a rise and get a good fight.

Stark really didn't know when to shut up.

Clint's expression hardened and his eyes took on a focus that he usually reserved for a target at the other end of an arrow. Tony realized he might have pushed too far, but wasn't about to back down now.

He swung, unsurprised when Clint ducked. He _was_ surprised by the palm to the solar plexus, though. He stumbled back, coughing.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Tony taunted as he moved back in to attack again. Not only did Clint block or dodge every hit, but he turned the tables. A knee to the ribs, followed by an elbow to the cheek, finished with a boot to the stomach. The archer _still_ hadn't broken a sweat, Tony realized, as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

"Clint." Natasha's voice rang out in warning across the room. The archer ignored her and advanced. Tony finally had the fight he'd been looking for, but he realized belatedly that he didn't have a hope of keeping up. It wasn't until Clint threw himself into a half cartwheel, his legs coming up to scissor around Tony's chest, and then slam him to the ground, that Tony decided this had been a mistake, his biggest one in a while.

"That's gonna leave a mark." Tony gasped, wondering if there was a phone ringing or if that was in his head.

"Enough!" Natasha was suddenly between them as Clint released him and did the backwards somersault to his feet again.

Tony thought that was a really adding insult to injury.

She shoved Clint hard in the chest. "Go cool off!" She ordered. He held his hands up in surrender and slid out of the ring, walking out without a word.

Steve was pulling Tony to his feet.

"You okay?" the Captain asked in concern, eyeing the purpling bruise on Tony's jaw.

"Yeah…just caught me by surprise."

"You shouldn't have baited him." Natasha snapped. "And he should have kept the fight under control. As far as I'm concerned, you're both идиоты." She stormed off in the direction her partner had headed.

"Do you know what that means?" Tony wondered, glancing at Steve.

The Captain shook his head negatively, eyeing him sternly.

"I didn't think he'd snap like that." Tony admitted.

"That wasn't him snapping, Tony…that was him sparring…have you ever even paid attention when he and Natasha go at it? That beat down he just gave you was nothing compared to what he's actually capable of."

"He knew I wouldn't be able to keep up." Tony argued, "And he came after me anyway."

"And you had nothing to do with that." Steve arched an eyebrow doubtfully.

Tony rolled his eyes and walked away, refusing to admit to anything.

* * *

Natasha slammed open the door to Clint's bathroom, snapping the shower curtain aside.

"Jesus, Tasha!" Clint cursed, putting a hand up to block the spray of water from hitting his face.

"What the hell was that?" She demanded, telling herself repeatedly to stay angry, not to let herself get distracted just because he was naked.

"What?" He asked. "That stuff with the ass hat? He had it coming." Clint shrugged, rubbing the soap through his hair and ducking back under the spray.

"I've seen you break spines with that last move." Natasha argued, stalking over to the towel rack and ripping one off the bar. "I should know, _I_ taught it to you."

"I had it under control." Clint defended, turning off the water. He chuckled when a towel hit him square in the face. "What?" He questioned with a laugh. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy me bringing him down a couple notches."

"You let him bait you." Natasha didn't relent. Clint rolled his eyes and wrapped the towel around his waist. "You have better control than that, what happened?"

"It's been a long day." He admitted, grabbing another towel and rubbing it through his hair. Natasha had to force her eyes away from all the scars that littered his well sculpted body. She could put names to most of the missions that had caused them. They weren't good memories.

"Those guys that were messing with you during the eval…you let it bleed over." She realized.

"I hate that place." Clint sighed. "But Stark still had it coming…the guy annoys me…he's _annoying_."

"I know, _trust me_, but that doesn't mean you can just take him to the mat whenever it strikes you."

"Why not? It felt really good. You should try it...very cathartic."

"Clint." Natasha sighed in annoyance. She reminded herself forcefully that she was _glad_ her smart ass partner was back to himself.

"What? Tasha? _What?_" Clint threw up his hands in frustration, second towel abandon around his neck. "What's so wrong with me sticking it to that asshole every now and then?"

"Nothing, if that was all that was going on...but it's not, Clint...I'm not an idiot...He's the _only_ one you're still freezing out…you ever thought that maybe that's why he baits you all the time? Because you're building relationships with everyone _except_ him." Natasha crossed her arms over her chest.

"The guy's an _ass_!" Clint defended.

"So was Coulson!" She shot back. Clint's eyes shuttered, walls coming up to protect what he was thinking. She hated it when he did that. "That's it." She realized.

"What's it?" Clint sighed, moving to walk past her. He froze next to her at her next words.

"He reminds you of Phil…that's why you're freezing him out."

"He's nothing like Phil." Clint countered darkly, turning his head to look at her. She met his gaze squarely.

"You sure about that?" She challenged. "Because it seems to me, the only one that you_ ever_ went at it like that with...was Phil...you and he argued _constantly_…the only time he you didn't was when you were injured."

"You're wrong." Clint refuted, "We argued then too."

She snorted a laugh and Clint smiled back.

"Think about it." She instructed quietly before backing away and turning to head back into his room.

Clint watched her go and sighed. It wasn't that he and Phil argued all the time. Even if it _was_ true. Or that he and Stark did the same thing now. It was that Phil had never been afraid to argue with him, about anything, ever. He was the big brother to replace the one that had betrayed him. And he didn't want anyone stepping into that spot,_ ever_. Maybe Tony did remind him of Phil, in that he was constantly on his ass about something, wasn't afraid to challenge him.

But he wasn't Phil, not even close.

* * *

Natasha was waiting for him when he came back into his room. She tossed him a pair of boxers.

"Lie down on your stomach." She ordered.

At his questioning eyebrow arch she rolled her eyes.

"You may have Bruce convinced you're A-okay but I _know_ your back still hurts...and sparring probably made it hurt worse...stop me if I'm wrong." She challenged with a delicately arched eyebrow.

He sighed, pulled on the boxers and lay on his stomach on the bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow she'd put out for him. Immediately her strong hands started kneading the tense, knotted muscles around the stab wound.

"Good god, Tasha...that feels fucking fantastic." He groaned, letting his eyes drift closed.

"You should have told Bruce that it's still giving you problems...he's not SHIELD...he just wants to help you." She pointed out quietly.

"What's he gonna do? Give me meds so I don't feel it as much? I won't take them, so what's the point." He shrugged, groaning in pleasure as she smoothed a knot out and some of the tension released.

"Yeah...I know." She admitted. She was just sick of seeing him in pain all the time.

"Sorry I lost control." He mumbled quietly, peaking at her over his shoulder.

Her eyes softened.

"I know he drives you crazy...but he's one of the good guys...he deserves a chance." She advised softly.

"I don't want a new Phil." He countered seriously.

Natasha tried not to let the way her heart broke a little at that show on her face.

"No one wants you to replace Phil, Clint." She sighed. "No one ever could...but you can find pieces of him in all of them." She nodded towards the door, indicating the rest of the team.

"How do you figure?" He wondered.

"Bruce hounds you about your health, just like Phil used to...Thor always reminds you about the fact that you're a hero, whether you like it or not...Steve is the most trustworthy of all of them, also the first one you confided in...you confide in him like you did in Phil...and Stark..." She smiled, "He's the most obvious, which is why you hate it so much..."

Clint sighed into his pillow, contemplating silently. She wasn't wrong. She rarely was.

"Вы знаете, что путь умнее меня, мой сексуальный огненный паук." He rolled over and smiled at her.

_You know you're way smarter than me, my sexy fiery spider._

She smiled, leaning over him.

"Cексуальный?" She questioned, throwing her leg over his waist.

_Sexy?_

"Очень, _очень_ сексуально." He smirked.

_Very, **very** sexy._

She pressed a kiss onto his lips but pulled back after a moment.

"Не вы его забудете, я очень сексуальная ястреба." She purred before kissing him again.

_Don't you ever forget it, my very sexy hawk._

* * *

End of Chapter 2

Had to get some BlackHawk in there because there isn't going to be much more in this story :( Don't worry...this isn't the only Clint/Natasha interaction you're going to get :)

The mission comes up next chapter! Then this story really gets rolling :)

I have posted a poll on my profile page to decide what story I will write next. Please go cast a vote! The summary for the winner will be posted at the end of the final chapter of this story :) I will leave the poll open until I post this Friday's chapter.

Reviews make me happy!

Here's your preview:

* * *

_"I figured you wouldn't mind it a little fast and furious, Stark…was I wrong?" Clint finally acknowledged him, a smirk upturning his lips._

_"No." Tony immediately defended his thirst for adrenaline. "A little warning is usually customary in these type of situations...just a thought for next time."_

_"Sure." Clint's look was so patronizing, Tony was sure his mother felt insulted. _


	3. I Ain't Gonna Live Forever

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers! Don't forget to do the poll on my profile page to choose what story I tackle next!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last time:_

_She pressed a kiss onto his lips but pulled back after a moment._

_"Не вы его забудете, я очень сексуальная ястреба." She purred before kissing him again._

_Don't you ever forget it, my very sexy hawk._

* * *

_You must trust and believe in people or life becomes impossible- Anton Chekhov_

* * *

"Tacos!" Steve voted.

"Hamburgers!" Bruce countered.

"Pizza." Tony tossed out.

"Spaghetti!" Pepper added eagerly.

"Chicken Parmesan." Natasha purred, sidling up next to Clint and stroking her fingers down his cheek seductively, her eyes promising more.

"Chicken Parmesan it is." Clint decided with a smirk.

"Ah…_cheating_…" Tony argued, looking offended. "If I sleep with you, will you cook what _I _want?"

The look Clint gave him was chilling.

"What about me?" Pepper smiled.

Clint laughed lightly and moved to the fridge. Tony turned a betrayed look on her.

"What? He makes _really_ good spaghetti." She shrugged, snagging a piece of cheese off the cutting board.

"Why do I feel like our votes didn't even matter?" Bruce wondered aloud to Steve.

"Because they didn't…" Steve sighed. "I bribed Natasha to choose chicken parmesan before we came in." He revealed in a low whisper. Bruce stared at him in shock.

"That's…_brilliant_." Bruce laughed. "What did it take?"

"I'm not giving away my secret." Steve shook his head. "Way too valuable."

* * *

Clint was just starting to prepare the chicken, Natasha perched on the counter beside him, when Jarvis announced a visitor. They all looked up in time to see Fury stride in.

"Avengers." He greeted, folding his hands behind his back.

"Jarvis, I thought I told you to get all visitors cleared through me before you let them in." Tony scolded.

"_He was on the preapproved list."_

"What preapproved list?" Tony demanded.

"_The one Ms. Potts created."_

"Pepper." Tony shot her a wounded look.

"I had to make sure you couldn't get mad and lock any of them out just to be spiteful." She shrugged, unrepentant.

"That shows _very_ impressive forethought." He praised after a moment's hesitation.

"Well you didn't make me CEO for nothing." She replied dryly.

"Actually..." Tony started, but the Captain interrupted him.

"What can we do for you, Director Fury?" Steve asked.

"I need to speak with Agent Barton and then with Agent Romanoff."

"Mission?" Bruce wondered already feeling the other guy's disappointment.

Fury nodded once.

"Barton?" He turned and walked out of the room, clearly expecting to be followed. Clint wiped his hands on a towel and with a look tossed at Natasha, strode after him.

* * *

Clint waited as Fury looked out the window of the living room. The man would brief him when he was ready and Clint was very patient. He leaned casually against the wall, fully prepared to wait the man out. Fury didn't keep him waiting long.

"I told you I had a mission for you in South Africa." Fury finally began.

"You mentioned it." Clint confirmed, tilting his head to the side curiously.

"It's a matter of national security." Fury continued, "Ricardo Le Roux…you know him?"

"Black market arms dealer…_very _good at his job..." Clint nodded knowingly, "he's become a problem?"

"A big one."

"Interpol's been trying to nail his ass to the wall for years, but they've never had anything legitimate to run with...why are we suddenly involved?" Clint wondered.

"Scuttlebutt is they've got a weapon that's going to change the face of war…I need you to get down there…and eliminate the weapon _and_ Le Roux."

"Sanctioned hit?" Clint's eyebrows rose. "Interpol's okay with that?"

"National leaders held a video conference...you've been unanimously cleared for the hit." Fury nodded.

"What's the weapon?"

"We're not exactly sure." Fury shook his head.

Clint stared hard at him.

"You're lying."

"That information isn't concrete by a long shot, Barton. You're better off without a preconceived idea."

"Don't bullshit me, Fury…not after what happened in Libya." Clint's tone hardened.

Fury sighed, meeting his agent's eyes steadily.

"We don't know much…we've heard something about an energy weapon of some kind."

"Trying to replicate HYDRA?"

"Maybe…we don't know…so proceed with an air of caution."

"Always do." Clint smirked.

Fury hummed doubtfully, holding out a folder.

"Romanoff coming or am I flying solo?" Clint questioned as he thumbed through the mission briefing. He'd memorize the details later.

"Neither."

Clint looked up, surprised.

"What's that?"

"SHIELD has hired a consultant, premiere in the field of weapons development."

Clint frowned.

"Oh no…no way am I going on a mission with _Stark_."

"He's a weapons expert, Barton, he'll be useful."

"He'll be in the way…I'm _stealth_ operative…he's…he's Iron Man." Clint scoffed. "He's not exactly known for his subtlety."

"The decision is final, Agent Barton."

"Fury…send _anyone_ else with me…like Cap, why not send Steve? Or Bruce?"

"It's _Director_ Fury, _Agent_," Fury snapped, "And Captain Rogers will be acting as back up for Agent Romanoff. And taking a man with stress issues and a split personality into an arms dealer's base of operations is not a recipe for success."

_So maybe Bruce hadn't been the best suggestion._ Clint admitted if only to himself. Instead, he focused on another point of interest.

"Tasha's got a mission too?" Clint frowned.

"Why the hell else do you think I'm not sending her with you?" Fury pointed out in frustration. Clint sighed. That made sense he supposed. It didn't mean he had to like it, though.

"Where's she going?"

"Classified."

"We talked about the bullshitting...Besides, she's just going to tell me later."

"Kiev." He revealed with a sigh, "Not that I needed to be reminded of the highly unprofessional relationship between the two of you."

Clint's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, ignoring the subtle reprimand. He sifted through the rumors he'd heard through his contacts in the last several months. There's only one name that would matter enough to SHIELD to send Natasha.

"Danko surfaced, didn't he?"

Fury nodded. Clint sighed again. Natasha had been itching to take that guy down ever since Argentina 4 years ago.

"Fine."

"Well now that _you _approve." Fury deadpanned.

Clint rolled his eyes.

"When do I leave?"

"You _and_ Stark fly out of the Northern New York base at 0400."

"Well then…I've got Chicken Parmesan to make and a mission to prep for." Clint turned to leave.

"Agent Barton."

The tone of Fury's voice had him wondering if he'd been a little too insubordinate this go around. He'd gotten away with it with Phil around to buffer.

"I've made certain allowances for your attitude, given your unique circumstance…"

_Again with the "unique circumstance" bullshit._ Clint scowled.

Fury took measured steps towards him.

"Just because I make the allowance of holding this briefing outside of SHIELD headquarters in deference for the current opinion that surrounds you at SHIELD,"

_So Fury knew about all the traitor talk then. Super._

"Does not mean you should carry yourself as anything less than a SHIELD operative under my _direct_ command…is that understood?"

Clint waited a beat, his own measure of defiance, before answering.

"Yes sir." He nodded.

"Dismissed…send Romanoff in."

Clint turned again and left.

Fury watched him go with a sigh. He'd thought Coulson was crazy when he'd brought him a file on a bow wielding mercenary barely old enough to vote. That opinion had only been compounded when he'd met the smart ass kid. But Barton's record spoke for itself, the man was scarily good at his job, even if he tended to be unprofessional at times. In the past, he'd made allowances for Phil's sake; he had been inexplicably fond of the kid. Now he made those allowances because Barton was Phil's greatest legacy. He couldn't risk him ever walking away from the agency, and not just because him working for anyone but them would be disastrous, as proven by Loki.

But damn it if that kid didn't drive him up the wall sometimes.

* * *

"You knew about the mission?" Clint accused Tony once Natasha had left to be briefed for her mission.

"Fury may have called me a few hours ago." Tony shrugged. "He said not to tell you."

"Since when do you do what Fury tells you?" Clint shot back.

"Since I didn't want you pestering me for details I didn't have until he got here." Tony replied easily.

Clint scowled, moving back to the chicken.

"We'll go over the file on the flight, be ready to leave here at 0300."

"That's what time in real people speak?" Tony wondered.

"3:00am." Steve supplied when it looked like Clint might throw the knife he was cutting the chicken with towards the billionaire.

"That's just criminal." Tony frowned. "I counter with 9:00am."

"2:30." Clint replied with an arched eyebrow.

Tony frowned.

"8:45."

"2:00."

"3:00 it is then."

* * *

Natasha glanced up from her mission brief. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she was sitting cross-legged against Clint's headboard in a pair of his boxers and a black tank top. The bed's owner was next to her, on his back with his legs propped against the length of the headboard. He had two pillows stacked under his bare shoulders and his right arm curled behind his head. He casually flipped to the next page in the brief where it was propped on his lap with his left hand. She watched him absently scratched the scar on his side from the Williams ordeal. In light of the stab wound on his back, the simple, but deep, slice along his side had seemed inconsequential.

It mattered to her, though. The scars on his body told the story of his life. The majority of them were from missions. Some she'd been there for, some she hadn't. There were others from his heartbreaking final encounter with his brother Barney, the most noticeable being a two inch stab wound on the right side of his chest. That scar was white with age and he'd only told her about it once, in Vietnam. There were still more scars, from past abuses he wouldn't talk about but to say they were why he and Barney ran away from the orphanage.

All of his scars told a story. A story about how he became who he was. She was proud to be part of many of those stories, just as he was part of many of hers. It made parting with him now, after such an important addition to his story, harder. What new story was he going to get in South Africa, what story would she get in Kiev?

"I don't like this." She stated suddenly.

It took a second for his attention to divert from the brief to her. His eyebrows rose in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Me in the Ukraine and you in South Africa."

"We've been on separate missions before." He reminded, reaching up to rub his left eye. He yawned, glancing at the clock. He had to meet Stark in the garage in two hours.

"Not so soon after you've been hurt."

"It was three months ago, Tash." He cocked an eyebrow. "You doubting me?" He asked, a little hurt.

"No." She sighed. "It's just…I'd gotten used to it again…"

"I know." He assured, bouncing his fisted left hand against her knee. "I don't like it any more than you do…but with Danko turning up after four years, you can't pass this up."

"I know." She sighed. "I just wish you could be there with me...you were in Argentina too."

"I wasn't the one he captured and tortured...besides this thing in South Africa is a matter of _National Security_." He mimicked Fury, tapping his file.

She smiled, playing with the tips of his fingers as she thought.

"Do you think Fourie will come after you?" She asked quietly. Clint sighed. He'd been wondering the same thing.

"He shouldn't even know I'm there...the mission is classified."

"So was the first one."

"I screwed that one up."

"No you didn't...your contact screwed you over...there's a difference."

"Either way," He sighed, "I'm not planning on any run ins with Fourie...I'll stay low profile."

"With Iron Man in toe? Good luck." She teased with a laugh.

"Don't remind me." Clint huffed, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. This time it was Natasha that glanced at the clock.

"You should get some sleep." She advised, pulling his file from his lap and tossing it on the bedside table.

"Why don't we do something _else_ until I have to leave?" He smirked, taking her file and tossing it on top of his.

"Clint." She scolded, though she was smiling and didn't make any effort to retrieve her file.

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her, unresisting, on top him.

* * *

Clint grabbed his black jacket and leaned over the bed, brushing a kiss across Natasha's temple.

"Будьте безопасны, мой огненный паук." He whispered. _Be safe my fiery spider._

She shifted in her sleep and he quietly moved away, slipping his quiver over his shoulder and grabbing his duffle and bow. He'd pick up his custom modified M-24 sniper rifle on his way to meet Tony.

"Стрелять прямо, мой ястреб."

He turned back at the door when her soft voice floated across the room. _Shoot straight, my Hawk._

"Всегда." He whispered back. He watched her blink at him through the darkness and offered her a small smile before disappearing out the door.

_Always._

* * *

"Be careful, okay, Tony…don't do anything dangerous." Pepper instructed as she followed him around their room while he gathered his things.

"Pepper, I'm going into South Africa on a super secret spy mission with like the ultimate super secret spy…I can pretty much guarantee it'll be dangerous." He replied as he compared watches in the mirror.

"The black one." She chose for him. "But you'll have Clint with you; he's more experienced in this type of thing…"

"Super secret spying? Yeah I'd say so." Tony spoke over her. She continued on undeterred.

"…so follow his lead and do whatever he says."

"Do you think the Top Gun look?" He slipped on a pair of Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. "Or Iron Man?" He switched to the black and red checkered Von Zippers he'd been wearing when Fury had dragged him into this whole mess.

"Tony, they're sunglasses."

"You're right, I should keep it pure." He agreed as if she'd suggested a choice. He slid the black and red glasses up to rest in his hair.

"It's 3 o'clock in the morning…there's no _sun_." She pointed out.

"But there will be eventually and the boy scouts had that thing about preparation going for them." He replied as he moved past her to pick up his duffle bag and the Iron Man case. Having an easily portable suit had become _very_ handy.

"Tony!" She snapped.

"Pepper, I'll be fine…like you said, I've got super spy going with me…"

"Just be careful."

"Fine…don't let Thor touch anything expensive when he gets back…and if you start seeing green anywhere, shoot Bruce with one of the tranq guns you'll find hidden in every room of this place." He advised, moving towards the door.

"You have tranquilizers in _every_ room?" Her eyes widened.

"Yeah…Bruce's idea…don't tell the other guy."

"Right…" She kissed him lightly, "Be-"

"Careful…yeah I-I got that part." He sobered a little under the weight of her gaze.

"You'll call when you land." She instructed firmly.

"I was going to say that…" He defended as if she'd stolen the words out of his mouth. "Bye, Pepper." He kissed her once more and walked out of the room.

"Bye, Tony." She whispered after him.

* * *

"So I was thinking we should get a theme song." Tony stated by way of greeting as he walked out of the elevator promptly at 3:01.

Clint was leaning against his black Ducati. He didn't respond to Tony as he turned and threw his leg over his bike.

"Something intense with a wicked beat…you know?" Tony continued unperturbed as he moved over to his own gold and hot rod red motorcycle. He pulled on his matching helmet as Clint kicked back his kick stand.

"I'm leaning towards the classics…Black Sabbath…AC/DC…Metallica…stop me if something strikes your fancy." Tony continued, toeing his own kickstand out of the way.

Clint revved his engine to life.

"So we're just gonna do a whole not talking thing right now?" Tony questioned, watching as Clint accelerated out of the garage. "Well this ought to be fun." He sighed flipping down his visor, revving his own engine, and following.

* * *

Maria Hill met them in the parking garage. Tony was pulling off his helmet and Clint was swinging his leg over his bike.

"So the fact that you're knee pretty much kissed the asphalt doesn't faze you…did you race motorcycles in your ever so cryptic past…or did they teach you how to drive like that in circus school?"

Clint ignored Tony as he unstrapped his duffle, gun, and bow from the back of his bike. He tossed Maria a look that stated, _"This is what you guys are making me put up with."_ She shrugged without sympathy.

_That figured._

"Is there a reason we had to get her faster than our headlights? Because I could have just gotten up earlier."

"I figured you wouldn't mind it a little fast and furious, Stark…was I wrong?" Clint finally acknowledged him, a smirk upturning his lips.

"No." Tony immediately defended his thirst for adrenaline. "A little warning is usually customary in these type of situations...just a thought for next time."

"Sure." Clint's look was so patronizing, Tony was sure his mother felt insulted. He had to admit, if only silently to himself, that he was impressed with the archer's ability to convey so much with just a look.

Maria cleared her throat to get their attention. She arched an eyebrow when she got twin looks of innocence.

"What did you do to get stuck with graveyard duty?" Clint asked as they followed her towards the hangar.

"The Director personally asked me to see you two off…and to remind you that this is a matter of National Security."

"Yeah…it said that in the brief…about 17 times." Clint frowned, giving her a deeply assessing look. Maria cleared her throat and continued on, pointedly ignoring him.

"_About _17?" Tony questioned. "Nobody says _about_ 17…they say about _15_ or about _20_…17 is a very specific number…" Tony paused, "Oh my god, you memorized the entire brief." He realized with a laugh.

"You didn't?" Clint challenged with a cocky smirk, following Maria into the hangar. Tony stood standing in the hallway for a moment. He smiled before following them.

"You have a photographic memory, don't you?" He questioned.

When Clint ignored him, he kept going, thinking out loud.

"No…you've got to have more than just a photographic memory given your extensive and I must say marginally impressive experience with heavy machinery like jets and such…and then there's your propensity for mathematics and physics, I mean you are a sniper after all and I would imagine the calculations become even more complicated when using your bow…photographic memory, excellent procedural memory, math, physics…what _is_ your IQ? 125? 130?"

"141." Clint answered easily as he walked around their quinjet with the pilot. Maria stayed standing with Stark.

"Damn." Stark breathed. That was fairly impressive.

"Surprised?" Clint cocked an eyebrow at him as he leaned down to look at him beneath the jet's wing.

"Intrigued with a hint of impressed."

"Should I be insulted?"

"Only marginally…I suppose it was to be expected for someone of your particular…skill set."

"And what is _your_ IQ Stark? 160? 165?" Clint asked as he continued to circle the jet.

"163." He stated proudly. "Lucky guess."

"Just know how to read people." Clint corrected as he finished the inspection. "Is there a reason I can't just fly us myself?" He asked Maria, his mind back on the mission. He glanced at the pilot, "No offense."

The pilot shrugged as if he didn't care one way or another.

"Director Fury wants you to use every possible moment preparing for the mission...he asked that I remind you to proceed with an air of caution."

"What aren't you telling me, Hill?" Clint frowned at her.

"You will be working directly with the Base Operator of the South African SHIELD base, they will providing both insertion and extraction." Maria went on as if he hadn't spoken. She purposefully didn't meet his eyes.

"Hill." He stated more firmly. "If there's mission relevant information and the Director doesn't share, I'm going to be more pissed off than Phil was after Libya." He warned. She sighed meeting his eyes fleetingly.

"It's just some rumors." She admitted finally.

"What rumors?" A dark thought struck him, "Fourie?"

"Not that I know of." She assured. "Just some rumors that there _might_ be a leak in South Africa."

"Is the mission compromised?"

"No reason to expect so...the Base Operator is playing it close to the chest...but proceed with-"

"An air of caution...right." Clint sighed deeply. "And if something goes wrong? We can't trust anyone there."

"The Director figured that in the event of an emergency, you'll figure something out." She replied with a meaningful look at Tony.

"She means because I'm Iron Man…I can fly." Tony pointed out helpfully.

"Right." Clint narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. "And what if something _happens_ to Tin Can and he can't fly us out."

"What's going to happen to me?" Tony frowned. "Are you plotting something…I think he's plotting something," Tony muttered to the pilot. "See that shifty look in his eyes…_shifty_…what do you say you and me blow this joint and go get a beer, let Big Bird handle this."

"By all means." Clint approved heartily.

"Barton." Maria snapped, "Stark…get going." She motioned them towards the jet.

"Fine." Tony huffed, stalking on board and falling into one of the seats.

Clint rolled his eyes towards the heavens, swore under his breath in Russian, and moved to follow him.

"Barton." Maria stopped him. He arched an eyebrow expectantly, "Watch your back...you and South Africa..." she trailed off meaningfully.

He nodded, appreciating her concern.

_Him and South Africa. Yeah...black market arms dealer, a possible leak, a bad history with the country, and Stark…_

_This should be fun._

* * *

End of Chapter 3

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* * *

_"Stark, this is HYDRA technology! It's not supposed to exist anymore! Steve brought down all of their bases himself over 70 years ago!" Clint snapped. "I have to find where they moved their base to."_

_"And how do you suggest we do that, Big Bird? Ask nicely?"_


	4. It's Now or Never

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_Shout out to_ **Reteka Hyuuga** and **eclipse **_for nailing the song that inspires the chapter titles! Nice!_

_Also, special shout out to_ **TuningMyViola** _who helped me out with information on South Africa including telling me about the geography and acting as my super awesome translator! She is super helpful and awesome and kept me (hopefully) from making a fool of my self :)_

_The poll came out pretty close! I have begun work on my next story! But you must wait until the final chapter of this one to find out which story won! _

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_Him and South Africa. Yeah...black market arms dealer, a possible leak, a bad history with the country, and Stark…_

_This should be fun._

* * *

_To trust someone is to take the greatest risk of all- Jonathan Kellerman_

* * *

"Why are you reading it again? You have it memorized and we've gone over it.._.twice_." Tony questioned from where he lounged in his seat on the jet. He was as slouched as he could get without falling to the ground and was tossing a paper ball, made out of part of his own brief, between his hands.

"I believe in being thorough." Clint replied as he flipped the page. He was also slouched in his chair, but had his feet propped up on the empty co-pilot's seat in front of him.

"You know there's such a thing as being over prepared."

"No there isn't." Clint retorted easily.

"I always pictured you as a fly by the seat of your pants type..." Tony mused. "Like the Maverick to Romanoff's Ice Man."

Clint gave him a blank look.

"Really? You're kidding me right…did they not have movies in the circus or something? How have you not seen Top Gun?"

"I've been busy." Clint shrugged.

"For your entire life?" Tony shot back doubtfully.

"Something like that." Clint smirked. Between the circus, the army, working as a mercenary, SHIELD, and then the Avengers, he hadn't had a lot of time for much else. What time he did have, was spent with Natasha. They didn't tend to spend their time together watching movies.

"That settles it…this criminal ignorance has to end. When we get back, I'm scheduling a movie night, attendance mandatory. Top Gun first…then I'll find a way to stream Hunger Games since its technically not available yet…you'll like that one…there are arrows."

Clint nodded distractedly without looking up from his brief. Tony went on anyway.

"What about Lord of the Rings? Tell me you've at least heard of it."

Clint flipped to the next page. His expression emotionless.

"Is that the one with the monkeys that took over the world?"

Tony blinked, his mouth gaping.

"Monkeys? You've _got_ to be kidding…that was dangerously close to blasphemy."

Clint smirked into his papers. Tony's eyes narrowed.

"You _were _kidding." He accused as if it were some terrible crime. Then his eyes widened. "Oh my god, you have a sense of humor…color me astounded."

Clint arched an eyebrow, wondering if he should be insulted. He decided he wasn't. His sense of humor was historically absent when dealing with Stark, he tended to go for a more annoyed sarcastic feel around the man. He supposed it made sense that the billionaire wouldn't think he had one. Stark had tended to bring out the worst in him the past few months.

"This is a definitely a discover worthy of attention...go on, tell me a joke."

Clint stared at him and abruptly decided he'd go for Coulson's old way of getting _him_ to shut up. He would just ignore him. In his younger years, it had worked like a charm. As he got older, and realized when Coulson feigned sleep it was really just a way to get Clint to shut up for a few hours; he'd done just that out of respect for the older man.

Something told him it would be harder than that with Stark.

Clint tossed his brief on top of his bag and tilted his head back.

"I'm getting some shut eye."

"We've still got 14 hours…" Tony complained, watching in awe as Clint literally seemed to fall asleep in seconds. He supposed in the archer's profession you got used to sleeping when and where you could.

He watched him sleep for a second before sighing and glancing around. There wasn't much to do on a jet. Except fly it. He sincerely doubted the pilot could be talked into that. Though he'd mark it as a possibility if he got too bored.

"Well this is boring." He muttered to himself. "There's nothing to do on a jet...I knew I should have brought my laptop...but _no_, you said I wouldn't need it. We'd be in a forest and wouldn't have any time to use it... never mind that technology is a _necessity_ in this world...and it would have been _easy_ to hack a satellite from here and get internet..."

_Stay strong, Clint._ Clint coached himself. _Don't respond, just keep pretending to sleep. He **has** to stop eventually._

Tony glanced at Clint's brief. No, the archer had read it enough for both of them. Glancing around again, his eyes fell on the rifle case secured next to Clint's seat. He started to lean forward.

"_Don't_ even think about it."

_He couldn't help it...no way was Stark getting anywhere **near** his rifle._

Tony jumped back, his eyes snapping up to Clint's face. The man's eyes were still closed, his breathing still even.

"Now that was just _creepy_."

* * *

Clint woke suddenly, inhaling sharply and reaching for his bow. But his bow was secured next to his rifle and his tired mind slowly realized where he was and that there wasn't an immediate threat.

_Fucking South Africa_.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. It would really be a beautiful country if it hadn't been so hell bent on killing him last time he was here. That tended to sour one's opinion. It pissed him off. He used to love South Africa. He had even taken a vacation to Cape Town once not long before bringing Natasha into SHIELD. He had planned on bringing her back one day but then the whole fiasco with Fourie happened. Now he couldn't step foot in that city without worrying about if he'd see the shooter before the bullet hit his head.

He shook his head to clear his dismal thoughts. A glance at Tony showed the man snoring softly with his head tilted back against his seat. Clint stood and stretched, rubbing the healed wound on his back and willing the ache away. He made his way up to the co-pilot's chair.

"Can't sleep?" the pilot asked, his voice carrying a distinct British accent.

"Can any of us ever?" Clint replied glancing over the GPS equipment to track their progress.

"You're on to something there, I think." The pilot laughed. "Been to South Africa before?"

"One time too many." Clint huffed a disdainful laugh, rubbing his eyes once again as if he could rub away the memories of gunfire, blood, and pain.

"I gotcha." The pilot nodded in understanding, "That one time the reason you can't sleep?"

Clint shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to offer anything else on the matter.

The pilot nodded knowingly anyway, remaining silent for a moment.

"Is it true that you never miss a target?" He asked suddenly, only to turn suddenly bashful as soon as he'd said it.

Clint blinked in surprise at the subject change.

"Haven't yet." He stated it as the fact it was, not a boast.

"That's truly amazing…I've heard of you, you know…seen you on base before…I always hoped I'd get to meet you one day… the famous Hawkeye...you, my friend, are a legend!"

Clint stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He'd never met a fan before. He didn't even know he had fans, especially after Loki.

"Thanks." He offered after a moment, a small genuine smile finding its way to his face.

* * *

Tony snorted awake when his jacket landed on his face. He sat up quickly, looking around. Clint was moving around the jet, helping the pilot complete the post-flight check list. They were landed, apparently.

"We've got a briefing with the Base Operator in ten, so get your stuff together." Clint instructed as he handed a clip board off to the pilot and shouldered his gear. "Thanks for the lift." Clint held out his hand to the pilot, who shook it firmly.

"Pleasure, Hawkeye." The pilot nodded, returning to the cockpit.

"Huh." Tony mused, slowly gathering his things.

"What?" Clint questioned as he led the way off the jet.

"I really didn't picture him as French."

"He's English."

Tony glanced over his shoulder with an incredulous arch to his eyebrow.

"Really? I didn't hear that…I hear the two accents are easily confused, though."

Clint closed his eyes, counting rapidly to ten in Russian.

* * *

"Le Roux's base is here." The Operator of the South African SHIELD base, Martin Collins, pointed to a place on the map spread out before him.

Clint immediately memorized the location. It was a small compound in the forest outside of Knysna. Knysna had the largest forest in South Africa. A good location if you wanted to be hidden.

Tony put the coordinates into his GPS prompting Clint gave him a sidelong look.

"What?" Tony protested, "If you don't trust technology it can't help you."

Clint cocked an eyebrow and turned back to the map.

"Insertion?" He asked.

"Here." Collins pointed to another point on the map. Clint titled his head, gauging the distance on the map.

"Eight miles on foot." He glanced at Stark. "You up for it?"

"Of course." Tony scoffed as if any suggestion of the opposite was ridiculous.

Clint stared at him for a moment and turned back to the map once more.

"Extraction?"

"If all goes well, you can call in the evac and we'll pick you up here," he pointed at a third place on the map labeled _RV-1_.

"And if all doesn't go well?" Tony questioned. Clint raised his eyebrows to indicate he was interested in that answer too.

"Call in an emergency evac and we'll come in weapons ready…rumor is you can fly, though, so that shouldn't be an issue." Collins looked Tony up and down.

"Valid assessment." Tony agreed arrogantly.

"Who knows we're here?" Clint asked, ignoring his teammate with little effort. It was becoming easy after so much practice.

"There've been some rumors about SHIELD sending in someone known for getting the job done, but as far as I know, nobody but my administration team knows it's you."

"As far as you know?" Clint didn't like how that sounded. He had too many enemies in South Africa to take chances. With rumors of a mole, Collins' blasé attitude wasn't comforting.

"Not outside the base, for sure." Collins assured confidently. Clint's eyes narrowed assessingly as Collins started folding the map.

"Lighten up, Barton…who cares if a few people know we're here."

Clint was about to respond to _that_ in a way that would probably cause Stark bodily harm, but Collins cut him off.

"Fury briefed me on your history here, Barton. I can assure you Fourie doesn't know you're even in the country…he's been busy on the coast with his trading."

"Fury briefed you...really?" Clint's eyebrow arched. The Fourie mission was classified. It wasn't like Fury to just go releasing that type of intelligence.

"With the rumors about a leak here, he wanted to make sure I knew the whole situation. He asked me to keep an eye on Fourie's movements, make sure you weren't compromised." Collins explained easily.

Clint nodded slowly.

"Who's Fourie?" Tony asked curiously, seemingly oblivious to Clint's wariness.

"An old enemy." Was all Clint revealed, taking the map when Collin's offered it to him. "When can we roll out?"

"Whenever you're ready." Collins replied, reaching for his radio.

"Then let's go." Clint followed Collins out of the room and Tony trailed behind, his eyes on his holoscreen phone.

* * *

"Is it _always_ this hot here?" Tony complained as he followed behind Clint through the forest.

"At this time of year, yeah." Clint replied, vaulting easily over a mess of fallen trees. He wondered seriously if he could get away with leaving Stark here. He could say they got separated. Stark got lost. Clint nodded, smiling to himself.

"Seriously." Tony eyed it's easily tangle of limbs and trunks warily. "Are you sure you aren't part monkey? I really feel like you should go by MonkeyHawk or HawkMonkey...or maybe ApeHawk."

Clint suddenly appeared standing on the top of the pile, his expression blank.

"Maybe you should go by Iron Ass, you know, incorporate you personality into your moniker."

He offered a hand to Tony, who just eyed him with distrust.

"Are you saying I'm an ass?"

Clint raised his eyebrows in question.

"Valid assessment..." Tony admitted, "You aren't going to drop me as soon as I leave the ground are you."

"No, Stark," Clint rolled his eyes. The fact that he had seriously considered it was irrelevant. "Stop wasting time."

Tony hummed doubtfully and reached to grab Clint's hand. Scaling the pile of debris was easy when an apparently supernaturally strong archer was pulling you up.

"Do you like lift weights in your sleep?" Tony grumbled as they jumped down to the forest floor.

"I have to be able to draw my bow, consistently for undetermined amounts of time." Clint stated as if it explained everything.

"That sounded like a brag."

"Just a fact."

"Sure." Tony agreed doubtfully. They continued their trek through the forest. "How far have we gone? At least halfway right?"

"Stark, we've gone barely a mile." Clint informed with a frustrated huff. Leaving Stark behind was sounding better and better. He'd think of a way to help Pepper move on. He just needed to get the Iron Man case and his phone away from him...

"You have _got_ to be kidding me…I'm never going to make it all the way to the base…its physically impossible." He stated sharply, "Why can't I just put on the suit and _fly_ us there."

"Le Roux is an _arms_ dealer…do you really want to get shot out of the sky by surface to air missiles?" Clint reasoned, but he paused his hike to give Tony a break.

"What if I just fly us _closer_…we can cut some time off the trip and get you home to that crazy Russian vixen of yours that much faster."

"I don't know, Stark." Clint hedged, running the possibilities through his mind. If they got spotted, their mission was over before it even started. But not walking seven more miles sounded very appealing.

"I'll put us down a mile out, that's a safe distance right?"

"Two miles." Clint bargained, making sure his bow was secured on his back and the strap to his rifle case was resting comfortably across his chest. "I'm going to regret this."

"Don't be ridiculous." Tony waved his hand dismissively as he opened the Iron Man case and the suit started assembling across his body. "This is a great idea."

Once the suit was in place, Tony held his hand out.

Clint scowled deeply, stepping closer. "If you drop me, Natasha will kill you…and she'll do it a lot more creatively than I would."

"Yeah, yeah, you two are eternally bonded; I get it…clench-"

"Don't say it." Clint warned as Tony took hold of him.

Tony chuckled and took off.

As promised, he landed them two miles out from the base.

"Jarvis, is there any new activity at the base?" Tony asked, still encased in the suit.

"_No sir, my sensors find no changes activity since before you took flight."_

"Satisfied?" Tony looked at Clint.

"I'll be satisfied when we're on the jet headed home."

"You really don't like South Africa, do you?"

"It's not that I don't like South Africa...it's that it doesn't like me back." Clint growled, leading the way towards the base, Iron Man following behind.

"I don't know _how_ it could develop _that_ opinion." Stark muttered quietly to himself.

* * *

"Get down." Clint hissed, going to his belly and pulling out his binoculars.

Tony, still in the suit, laid out next to him, using Jarvis to zoom in on the base.

"What the hell?" Clint wondered, eyeing the apparently abandon base with a practiced eye.

"I'm no black market expert," Tony started, "But doesn't the practice require I don't know...people? And possibly merchandise?" Tony replied dryly.

Clint hummed his positive response.

"What the hell is going on here?" Tony asked no one in particular.

"We should check it out." Clint decided, though he was frowning deeply.

"Why are you frowning like somebody called your bow archaic?" Tony questioned. Then he blinked. "Ah god, what is it?"

"Something doesn't feel right..."

"Do you get these feelings often, or just when faced with ghost towns?" Tony questioned.

"I usually get them before the shit hits the fan." Clint shrugged, moving to stand.

"So don't you think that maybe we _shouldn't_ go down there?" Tony demanded, grabbing his arm.

"I have a mission to complete Stark...if they moved their base; I need to see if they left any kind of trail for me to follow."

"What if it's a trap?"

"Then I hope you can fly fast enough to get us out of here...stay put."

Before Tony could protest, Clint was creeping down the hill like a shadow. The billionaire cursed silently. He supposed if it _was_ a trap, him flying in would only set it off earlier. At least Clint had stealth going for him.

_"They cleared out in a hurry." _Clint announced over their comms.

"Anything we can use to follow them?"

_"Truck tracks are headed east...huh..."_ Clint trailed off.

"What?"

_"The tire imprints are at least two days old, but some of these footprints have only been here a few hours, if that."_

"Maybe you should get out of there."

_"I just need to check the warehouse."_

Tony scowled impatiently as he watched his black clad teammate skulk around the edge of the large warehouse and disappear inside.

_"This place is totally cleaned out...they knew we were coming, Stark."_ Clint announced ominously.

_"Mr. Stark, there are several life forms moving through the forest towards your position...several others are closing in on the edges of the base."_

"Shit! Barton, move your ass, we need to get out of here now!"

_"Hold on, I found something..."_

"What? Now is not the time to brush up on your detective skills, Sherlock!" Tony hissed, standing up and firing up his boosters. He soared down towards the warehouse just as two dozen men emerged from the trees wielding automatic weapons. Tony burst into the warehouse, moving quickly to Clint, who was eyeing a large hole in the warehouse wall. The edges were scorched as if burned.

"Stark this is..."

"Not now, Legolas, we've got a whole lot of mean looking guys surrounding us with very big guns."

Clint's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Wait..."

"No time to wait, Barton, if we're going to get away, we need to go _now_." Tony reached for him, but Clint stepped out of his reach.

"Stark! This is HYDRA technology! It's not supposed to exist anymore! Steve brought down all of their bases _himself_ over 70 years ago!" Clint snapped. "I _have_ to find where they moved their base to."

"And how do you suggest we do that, Big Bird? Ask nicely?"

"No! We let them take us...They aren't here to kill us..."

"How the _hell_ do you figure that?"

"Because if they were, they'd be firing on us right now! There's no cover in an empty warehouse, we're easy targets..."

"Maybe _you_ are." Tony groused, but Clint went on his tone hardening.

"They _knew_ we were coming, Stark...we have to assume they knew it was you and me...that means there's only one reason they aren't killing us now..."

"Which is?" Tony demanded at the same time his mind put it together. He paled behind his mask. "They need me."

"Yes." Clint agreed, staring at him seriously. "If they've managed to replicate HYDRA technology, we need to figure out how...this," he pointed at the burn hole, "tells me they don't have it figured out yet."

"Which is where I come in."

"Exactly."

"And why wouldn't they just kill _you_?"

"Leverage...you aren't exactly the same man that got taken in Afghanistan...they've got to believe you're stronger now...even then you never gave them what they wanted...they won't think you'll do that now without persuasion."

Tony felt sick.

"You're the persuasion."

"Yes," Clint glanced out the hole in the wall. "We don't have much more time...whatever differences we have, we need to shelf them _now_...from this point on, we don't trust anyone but each other...somebody in SHIELD sold us out, so we can't even count on anyone coming to look for us."

"We're on our own." Tony realized darkly.

Clint nodded.

"Whatever happens, Stark...know that I'm trained in anti-interrogation...I can take _anything_ they do to me...you _cannot _give them what they want, no matter what...understand?" Clint demanded sharply.

Tony swallowed hard. All the sudden he found himself with Barton's life in his hands and he felt sick.

"Stark!" Clint snapped as the men with guns kicked open the warehouse door.

"I got it." Tony nodded, putting up his hands in defense as the men closed in. He wondered if he was even supposed to resist. He didn't know the protocol for _letting _yourself get captured so you could find out the location of a bad guy's super secret base. He glanced at Clint, who seemed to read his confusion.

"Make it look good." He instructed under his breath just before he whipped out his bow and started firing.

Tony swallowed and started firing as well, wondering how to make it look good when he should easily be able to blast his way out. That question was answered when Clint suddenly faltered, his hand going to his neck. He pulled out a dart, looking at it angrily, as if he hadn't expected it. Something told Tony he had. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, his bow clattering out of his hand.

All it took was one of the men putting a gun to Clint's head for Tony to put his hands up in surrender, suddenly understanding with scary clarity why Clint hated South Africa.

* * *

End of Chapter 4

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* * *

_"Get that away from my face, or I'll put it through your heart." Clint growled suddenly, drawing both of their attention abruptly._

_The man with his quiver had moved over to him and was lightly tracing the point of one of Clint's arrows across the archer's cheek. The man laughed, saying something in Afrikaans to his friend with Clint's bow. He turned back to Clint and sliced the arrow tip across his cheek, drawing blood._

_What happened next, Tony would be in awe of for the rest of his life._


	5. My Heart is Like an Open Highway

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

___Again, special shout out to_ **TuningMyViola** _who helped me out with information on South Africa including telling me about the geography and acting as my super awesome translator! She is super helpful and awesome and kept me (hopefully) from making a fool of my self :)_

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_All it took was one of the men putting a gun to Clint's head for Tony to put his hands up in surrender, suddenly understanding with scary clarity why Clint hated South Africa._

* * *

_I think we may safely trust a good deal more than we do. -Henry David Thoreau_

* * *

It didn't take them long once Tony had surrendered, even sliding back his helmet for good measure, for the group of men holding them at gunpoint to contact someone with a radio in one of their trucks.

"Mnr. Le Roux, ons het vir Mnr Stark in hegtenis." _(Mr. Le Roux, we have Mr. Stark in custody.)_ The large white man spoke into the radio in a language Tony didn't know. He recognized Le Roux's name though, and his own. The man was talking about Tony, but he was eyeing Clint with obvious apprehension. He even took a step backwards when Clint started to stir.

Tony arched an eyebrow. That was interesting.

_"En Agent Barton?"_ (_And Agent Barton?) _The disembodied voice of Ricardo Le Roux replied in the same language.

Tony thought this moment was rather epic, hearing the man's voice for the first time. He sounded inexplicably _normal_.

"Ons het hom onderworpe."_ (We have him subdued.)_ The man quickly directed two of his men to zip tie Clint's hands behind his back as the archer started to come back to awareness. They pulled the dazed man up by his arms so he was on his knees next to Tony.

_"Baie goed gedoen, Johan." (Very well done, Johan.)_ Le Roux praised. _"Bring hulle in, en maak seker dat Barton se oë gedek is." (Bring them...and make sure Barton's eyes are covered.)_

It struck Tony, as they were tying a thick strip of cloth around Clint's eyes, how wrong this situation was. A man, whose greatest asset was his eyes, was now rendered blind. Clint, who in the short time Tony had known him had proved he was cowed by no man, was on his knees as if he was somehow _less_ than the rest of them. Tony himself was wearing the very suit that had made him a hero, yet he couldn't use it because someone had betrayed them. Now they had to _let_ themselves be captured just so they could complete their mission.

It was the very embodiment of the phrase "the shit hit the fan."

Tony knew the exact moment Clint returned to awareness. He knew because the archer tensed so suddenly that the two men holding him flinched. He could almost see the archer's mind racing to figure out why he was bound and blindfolded. When it all clicked into place, Clint's shoulders relaxed, if only minutely and he cocked his head a little.

_He's listening for something._ Tony realized. Then it hit him. Barton had been knocked out before the fight had ended. He was making sure Tony was still there.

_Does he really think I'd just leave him?_ Tony wondered, not sure if he was more offended or more hurt.

"So why all the subterfuge?" Tony spoke up suddenly, eyeing Johan, who appeared to be the one in charge. He saw Clint's shoulder's relax a little more. "Why not just kill us?"

"Mr. Le Roux has need of your skills." Johan replied in a thick accent. "If you will please remove the Iron Man uniform." He ordered, motioning at the men holding Clint. There was suddenly a gun pressing into the assassin's temple. Clint didn't flinch or react in any visible way. As if a gun against his temple was just an everyday occurrence that shouldn't cause any sort of discomfort or concern.

"It's a _suit_." Tony corrected, though he obediently started the removal process. Once he was freed and the suit returned to its case form, one of the men snatched it from him and handed it to Johan.

"Bring hulle." Johan ordered his men as he turned and strode out of the building.

* * *

Tony tried not to flinch as the truck started moving. He had been forced at gunpoint into the bed of a green truck with large off roading tires and a canopy covering the bed. Clint had been literally thrown in after him. Three men climbed in with them, blocking the only exit point, which was over the tailgate.

"Has anybody other than the leader spoken English?" Clint questioned quietly, from where Tony had helped him sit against the side of the truck.

"Not that I've heard." Tony replied, easing down next to him, so they could whisper without being overheard.

"He gave their orders in Afrikaans so I don't think many, if any, of the foot soldiers speak anything else."

"You could understand them?" Tony asked, not knowing why he was surprised.

"I have an ear for languages." Clint shrugged.

"How many do you know?" Tony questioned curiously. Barton was just full of surprises.

"Several...but that's really not important right now." Clint muttered, cocking his head when the vehicle turned.

"Just curious." Tony defended.

"Could you estimate how fast we're going?" Clint asked suddenly. "I can't see, so..." He looked at Tony unerringly. The fact that he couldn't see, made it a tad disconcerting. Not that Tony would admit it...ever.

Tony looked over the guards' heads at the passing scenery, calculating in his head.

"About 30 miles per hour...why?"

"Let me know if it changes." Clint demanded.

"Ooookay." Tony frowned. It was an odd request that he didn't entirely understand. But Clint was an odd man that he didn't entirely understand, so it didn't mean much.

It wasn't until he heard Clint repeating something over and over to himself that he started to get it.

"2 mikes then left...30mph...2 mikes then left...30mph...2 mikes then left..."

Tony blinked._ No way._ The mantra changed at the next turn and Tony was certain.

"2 mikes then left...30mph...3.5 mikes then right...accelerated back to..." he looked to where he knew Tony was.

"20 miles per hour." He supplied. Clint's eyebrows rose.

"Why are they slowing down?" Clint wondered a moment before the road beneath them changed texture. His eyebrows dropped as if it was suddenly all clear. "2 mikes then left...30mph...3.5 mikes then right...20mph...1 mike then bridge for..." he waited until the road changed back, ".75 mikes." Then he repeated it, quietly and under his breath so the guards wouldn't realize what he was doing.

Tony hadn't been that impressed with someone other than himself in a long time.

* * *

By the time they arrived, Clint's memorized directions had gotten fairly long, but he repeated them flawlessly every time without hesitation. Tony had supplied speed changes as they happened; happy he could help at least in that small way.

Clint nodded to himself as the vehicle slowed to a stop and turned off. Confident he could remember the whole thing when he needed to. He visualized the map in his head, tracking the turns they'd made and the approximate time it had taken and calculating in their approximate speed. It only took him a few moments to get a general idea of where they were. He'd be able to find the coordinates specifically when he got to actually look at a map.

The three guards stood and motioned them to exit the truck after them. Tony nudged Clint, who immediately moved to stand.

"Where are they?"

Tony started at Clint's hissed demand.

"What?"

"Where are the three guards that were with us?"

He replied without asking why Clint needed to know.

"When you exit the truck, 10, 11 and 2 o'clock."

Clint nodded, moving in front of Tony. Stark's eyes widened when he saw the zip tie was gone and Clint's hands were free. It was only that new knowledge that kept him from being surprised when Clint all but flew out of the back of the van, landing on one of the guards' backs. He had the guy's chin in one hand and the back of his head in the other before anybody knew what was happening. Tony cringed at the crunch of bones snapping as the man dropped like a sack of rocks. Clint pushed the dead man away. He ripped his blind fold off even as he dove at the man to his right. A knife, produced out of seemingly thin air, opened the man's throat and then flew into the third guard's neck a moment later.

Tony blinked and Clint had one of their former guard's guns in his hands and leveled at the approaching Le Roux. The assassin wasn't even breathing hard.

"Skiet, en ek belowe jul leier sal dood wees voordat ek die grond tref." Clint snarled at the half a dozen men with guns trained on him and Tony. Tony frowned, unable to understand. _(Any of you shoot and I promise your boss will be dead before I hit the ground.)_

"Hou julle vuur."_ (Hold your fire.)_ Le Roux ordered. "Agent Barton doesn't have a reputation for making promises he can't keep." The arms dealer continued in English. He approached Clint, stopping a few feet away, eying the gun trained on his chest.

"Smart man, Le Roux." Clint's eyes were hard and his expression emotionless. Tony didn't know how he stayed so unreadable even in a stressful situation like this. Tony was sure his own wide eyed awe was written all over his face. "You've heard of me?" Clint's eyebrow twitched a little and the very corner of his mouth turned up.

"Indeed from a mutual acquaintance of ours..."

"Then you know I don't miss…and I could end this all...right here, right now." Clint taunted.

"You could kill me, yes…but how would you escape?" Le Roux glanced around them. "You must know I have more men inside and the moment you fire that gun, you and your friend Mr. Stark will be as good as dead."

"I've survived worse odds." Clint smirked dangerously.

"I believe you have, Agent Barton." Le Roux almost looked impressed. "I'll enjoy beating that confidence out of you."

"Maybe…" Clint inclined his head. "Or maybe I'll kill you and all of your men…if you don't think I can do it…ask our mutual acquaintance, _Fourie_." He spat the name like it was poison on his tongue.

"He told me you were smart…" Le Roux didn't seem phased that Clint had figured out who he'd been talking about. "And also very dangerous…he called you a demon…and spoke your name with hatred and fear." Le Roux gave Clint an assessing look, and then shrugged dismissively as if he were unimpressed.

"Maybe you should respect the man's experience." Clint advised, shifting his weight subtly as several more men poured out of the larger of the two buildings in the small clearing they were in.

"And maybe you should learn to pick your battles, my friend." Le Roux replied coldly. "Are you really prepared to give your life for this? Are you prepared to give his?" He motioned at Stark.

Clint glared, not daring to look at Tony. He waited an extra beat, until he was sure he'd made his intended impression, then he lowered the rifle and tossed it onto the dead guard at his feet. They were on him in moments; kicking his knees out and slamming him face first into the ground. Metal handcuffs were used this time to secure his hands. He smirked into the dirt. It was amusing that they thought those would be any more difficult for him to get out of. Not that he was intending to. He was _trying_ to appear captured after all.

"Deursoek hom vir wapens, julle idiote!" (_Search him for weapons this time, you fools_!) Le Roux barked. He waited until Johan nodded that he understood, then he turned abruptly to Tony. "Mr. Stark…my manners escape me...allow me to introduce myself…"

"I know who you are." Tony snapped, watching Clint get hauled to his feet out of the corner of his eye. The one called Johan started roughly searching him for weapons. The sheer number he uncovered was startling, even for Tony.

"Then we can skip the introductions. I have a project…that requires someone of your specific intelligence…"

"Guys like you always do." Tony shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. "Try singing a different song, Romeo, I've heard this tune before…and it didn't go so well for the last guys." He let himself be pulled out of the truck and searched. He frowned as they took his holoscreen phone.

"Careful, that's one of a kind." He muttered as one of the men pocketed it.

"Yes, I have heard of your past misadventures…I assure you, I am neither as foolish, nor as soft hearted as your previous captors."

"Soft hearted? Those goons may have been idiots but they weren't any picnic…so don't try your fear tactics on me…like I've said…this ain't my first rodeo."

"Why Mr. Stark…you have gotten the wrong impression…I do not mean you any harm." Le Roux put his hand against his own heart as if the very idea offended him.

"Oh no?" Tony scoffed, though he had terrible feeling he knew where this was going.

"No…you are entirely too valuable and I need you in 100% working order…your companion, on the other hand," Le Roux turned to Clint, who met his eyes without flinching. "Is of little consequence…have you ever held someone else's life in your hands, Mr. Stark?"

Tony thought of Yinsen but kept his mouth shut.

"Well then allow me to educate you…the rules are simple…I _will_ harm, Agent Barton…that you cannot avoid…as I believe that the best way to inspire action is to provide proper motivation… however, the extent to which I harm him…is entirely up to you…"

"You expect me to believe you'd let him live if I do what you want? That you'd let me live?" Tony shook his head. "I'm not an idiot."

"I promise you exactly that." Le Roux turned away from his inspection of Clint to regard Tony once again. "And you will find, Mr. Stark, that I am a man of my word…you do what I need you to do and I will allow both you and Agent Barton to walk out of here. The forest is large and by the time you get to help, we will be long gone…besides…" He looked back at Clint, "Agent Barton's name is on another man's bullet."

There was a flash of something dark in Clint's eyes, but Tony didn't know what it was. It was gone before he could dwell on it too long.

"What do you want me to do?" Tony asked, because he didn't know what else to say.

"I will show you." Le Roux smiled a scary kind of smile that chilled Tony to the core. "Bring hulle." _(Bring them.)_

* * *

Tony and Clint were forced into a large concrete room. There were no windows and only one, solid iron door. Tony was pushed to the center of the room and Clint was man handled over to a set of iron shackles suspended from the ceiling by a chain. Two men were in the middle of changing his hands from the handcuffs to the shackles when Clint decided to knock them back on their heels a little.

He solidly elbowed one of the men in the sternum and spun to the other one, chopping his hand into his throat. While the second man gasped for air through his crushed throat, Clint turned again, bringing his boot up into the first man's face. He spun in place and cracked his boot into the side of his head a second later. The man dropped, blood leaking out of his nose, mouth, and ears. The second man's eyes rolled back and he collapsed as well, his body unable to draw in air through his crushed throat.

Le Roux, Tony, and the other three men in the room stared at him.

Tony gaped, desperately wanting to ask what the hell Barton was doing. They were already captured, why was he making such large crazy waves. All he got for it was a bullet to the arm. Either the man shooting wasn't a very good shot, or they didn't want Clint in any real danger, because the graze barely made him flinch. But it did get his attention. Three guns and Le Roux's eyes were trained on him.

"Agent Barton, I have made a promise not to kill you…do not test me." Le Roux practically growled. He motioned his remaining three men forward. One kept a gun on Clint the whole time; the other two secured his wrists and stepped quickly away, pulling their dead comrades out of the room. Clint glared after them, his wrists bound, but hanging in front of him, the chain they were connected to loose with slack. The three men returned and one of them shifted Clint's quiver off his back, fingering one of the arrows curiously. They'd taken his bow and quiver back at the first warehouse. Clint's eyes narrowed as a second man fingered his bow.

Tony tore his eyes away from Clint's stormy countenance as Le Roux addressed him.

"I have managed to procure a weapon with a magnificent source of energy through a very interesting contact in Germany." Le Roux began, walking over to a large gun with a blue glowing cylinder built into it. Tony eyed in curiously. It was definitely HYDRA. He'd studied SHIELD's databases enough to know. But it was an early prototype, not what had been reported used 70 years ago. He was sure Fury would be very interested in how it made it to the black market. Hell, he'd be interested to know _how_ the hell it was still in existence. Tony sure was.

While he was thinking, Le Roux continued.

"This one weapon carries the power to level a mountain."

"So why don't you sell it as is?" Tony questioned.

"Because where one gun _would_ fetch a high price...several guns fetch several high prices." Le Roux smirked, "I need you to create more, using this as a model."

"How am I supposed to replicate that energy source?" Tony demanded. "Maybe in a lab with billions of dollars worth of equipment…but definitely not here." What Tony didn't say, was that there was no way to replicate the energy source. The tesseract HYDRA had used was with Thor in Asgard.

"You misunderstand, Mr. Stark." Le Roux shook his head and smiled as if amused by Tony. The billionaire frowned. He very rarely misunderstood anything.

"How so?"

"I do not expect you to replicate the energy, merely the weapon…and then to find away to tap into the power and distribute it…you see, my buyer does not need to level mountains…he merely needs several weapons that can level something smaller."

"Like a person?" Tony snapped.

Le Roux smiled that scary smile again and Tony resisted the urge to shiver.

"What my clients do with their weapons is none of my concern."

"Is that how you sleep at night?" Tony replied angrily.

"Neem daardie weg van my gesig af, of ek sit dit deur jou hart." Clint growled suddenly, drawing both of their attention abruptly. _(Get that away from my face, or I'll put it through your heart.)_

The man with his quiver had moved over to him and was lightly tracing the point of one of Clint's arrows across the archer's cheek. The man laughed, saying something in Afrikaans to his friend with Clint' bow. He turned back to Clint and sliced the arrow tip across his cheek, drawing blood.

What happened next, Tony would be in awe of for the rest of his life.

In a move almost faster than he could follow, Clint threw his forehead into his antagonizer's nose. While the man was still reeling from that, Clint raised his hands and snatched the arrow away. In nearly the same moment, he brought his knee up into the guard's groin. The man doubled and Clint kneed him again, this time in the chest, forcing him to straighten with the momentum of the blow. Then he flipped the arrow in his hand and stabbed it into the man's chest, directly in the heart. The man dropped like a brick, dead before he hit the ground. Clint showed his palms in the next moment, demonstrating he had no more weapons.

The entire room was silent in shock.

"I may not speak the language," Tony shrugged with a smirk, breaking the spell. "But something tells me he warned him."

"Julle idiote! Ek het julle gewaarsku!"_ (You fools! I warned you of him!) _Le Roux snapped, "Maak hom vas!" _(Secure him!)_

One of the other men ran to the wall and turned a crank against it. The chain slowly started to tighten as the crank pulled in the slack, eventually forcing Clint's arms above his head. The man locked the crank into place, leaving Clint's boots barely brushing the concrete floor. Several men struggled to pull the dead man out of the room. The guard who had cranked the chain stalked over to Clint and drove his fist into the archer's exposed stomach. In response, Clint pulled himself up with his arms and wrapped his legs around the man's thick neck. A sharp twist of his body later and the man crumbled, neck broken.

The final guard flipped his rifle in his hands and swung the stock hard at the archer's side, wisely staying out of his immediate reach. Clint's body tensed against the blow, and the one that followed. Two more sharp attacks at his ribs, and the guard was brave enough to venture closer and slam his gun into Clint's temple, knocking him out.

Tony stared, slack jawed, as Clint hung limply on the chains.

"Well done, René." Le Roux praised, taking a moment to compose himself. He turned back to Tony. "Get to work, Mr. Stark…and I warn you, my next visit will not be so pleasant."

He threw one more wary look at Clint and then stormed out. René followed taking Clint's weapons with him. The door slammed and locked behind them.

Tony blinked, his mind falling backwards to a similar circumstance several years ago. He'd become Iron Man after that ordeal, but it was not something he ever wanted to repeat, no matter the outcome. It had been terrifying 99% of the time and the man he had with him then hadn't made it out. He couldn't afford that result this time. He didn't want to escape if Clint wasn't with him. The Russian spitfire would gut him if he did.

Slowly, and because he didn't know what else to do, Tony moved over to the gun. It had been disabled, and Tony knew without trying that it wouldn't fire. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Clint, who continued to hang limply, his chin on his chest. He didn't know if it was better or worse that Le Roux didn't intend to kill Clint. Of course, if Clint kept killing Le Roux's men at every tune, Le Roux might go back on that promise.

Tony was at least marginally comforted that he wasn't the only one the archer antagonized on purpose. Although, he was considerably less volatile than Le Roux. Clint didn't seem to care about that.

"Stark."

Tony jumped, his dark eyes flying to Clint, who was staring at him intensely. Tony got the distinct feeling it hadn't been the first time the archer had called his name.

"You're awake." Tony observed, uncharacteristically subdued.

"Is it HYDRA's?" Clint demanded.

Tony held up the gun, revealing the skull and tentacles that was the Nazi group's symbol.

"Dammit." Clint sighed.

"Why did you do that?" Tony asked suddenly.

"What?" Clint grunted as he tried to shift, stretching his toes to the ground to try and take some pressure off his shoulders.

"Kill his men at every turn…I mean I thought your whole plan was to _let_ yourself get captured…but ever since they got us, you've seemed to be attempting to escape every time the slimmest opportunity presents itself." Tony frowned at him.

"Not escape…just thinning the herd…I'd rather not have to face an entire army when the time comes."

"And the two guys just now? All that got you was a nice trip to never never land." Tony shot back.

"To show them not to fuck with me." Clint replied firmly. "Besides," Clint sniffed, "I don't like it when people touch my gear."

"But still...are you _trying_ to piss of Le Roux enough to kill you?"

"He's not going to kill me." Clint assured, "Not with Fourie on his radar." He shrugged, "Besides...now his men are scared to get too close…I can use that." Clint replied unruffled.

"Use it when?"

"To escape…and then kill every last one of them."

Tony frowned thoughtfully. It made a morbid kind of sense, he supposed.

"How exactly do you plan on escaping?"

"The opportunity will come." Clint replied confidently. "It always does."

"Oh so you've done this before." Tony deadpanned.

"Yes actually…it's actually Tasha's go to plan…getting captured is the quickest way to lull people into a false sense of security…I've borrowed it from her playbook from time to time."

"I suppose it was at least somewhat successful…given you and the Russian time bomb are still alive."

"We just need to bide our time." Clint assured. "And you need to look like you're doing what they want, without actually doing it."

"You make it sound so easy."

"You're a smart guy, I'm sure you'll think of something." Clint smirked.

Tony was quiet for a moment, fingering the HYDRA symbol on the weapon.

"I thought you said all of HYDRA's technology was destroyed." He picked up the gun and carried it over to Clint. The archer eyed in critically.

"It's an old prototype...from what I know about HYDRA they didn't use it for long before they developed something better, more controlled...I didn't know any of those still existed."

"Unlucky for us...Le Roux managed to dig it up."

"I'd be _very _interested to find out who his contact in Germany is." Clint frowned thoughtfully.

Tony nodded, carrying the weapon back over to the table. He set it down and leaned against the wood with a heavy sigh.

"He's going to hurt you…and I can't stop him…"

"I know, Stark." Clint replied quietly. "I can take it."

_Yeah_, Tony thought, _but can I?_

* * *

End of Chapter 5

Thanks for reading! Reviews make me happy!

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* * *

_"If we're going to be doing this whole trust thing…I think you should call me Tony."_

_Clint stared hard at him and Tony found himself wondering what had caused such a serious bout of reflection. Finally, after several agonizing moments of deliberation, Clint replied._

_"Then you should probably call me Clint."_


	6. Tomorrow's Getting Harder

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

___Again, special shout out to_ **TuningMyViola** _who helped me out with Afrikaans translations!_

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_"He's going to hurt you…and I can't stop him…"_

_"I know, Stark." Clint replied quietly. "I can take it."_

_Yeah, Tony thought, but can I?_

* * *

_In the end, you have to choose whether or not to trust someone- Sophie Kinsella_

* * *

"You see any cameras or anything?" Clint asked even as he craned his neck to see around the room.

"No…and from what I saw of their set up out there while I was frog marched in, I doubt they have eyes _or_ ears on us." Stark reasoned, pulling over a stool looking at Clint assessingly.

"What?" Clint snapped defensively.

"Can you lift yourself up again, like you did when you snapped that guy's neck?"

Clint blinked, then his eyes slid to the stool and comprehension lit his expression.

"Yeah." He forced out a deep breath and wrapped his hands around the chains he was bound to. He pulled his body up, his teeth clenching as his ribs protested painfully. Tony quickly slid the stool under him and guided Clint's feet onto it. He had to rest in a crouch, but the pressure released on his shoulders and he sighed in relief.

"Well," Clint picked up their previous conversation, "I doubt this is a permanent base…I don't even think they even have their weapons stash here." Clint frowned in disappointment.

"Let me guess...you're adding that to your to-do list." Tony sighed.

"Thousands of weapons we could get off the market…I need to at least find out the location." Clint argued.

"It's going to be hard enough getting out of here alive, Barton…it's like you're actually _trying_ to make it harder."

"You gotta see the bigger picture, Stark…this is about more than just _this_ weapon…"

"Well if we kill Le Roux, nobody will know where his stash is…"

"Can't risk that...do _you_ want a bunch of kids to walk into a warehouse full of weapons one day? I know I don't."

"Melodramatic much? Has anybody ever told you that you're atrociously stubborn?" Tony snapped.

"Actually…yes." Clint shrugged, smirking a little. "But it's why I'm so good at my job."

"Yeah," Tony motioned at their cement prison. "You're_ awesome_."

"Part of the plan, Stark."

"Yeah, _okay_." Tony scoffed, turning away.

Clint was silent for a few moments.

"If you can't handle this...I need to know now."

"I can handle it." Tony snapped, spinning back around. "I'm just trying to imagine a scenario where we actually make it out of this alive…I get that you've done this before…but the last time I did this, I had an iron suit to protect me when I busted out…and in case you didn't notice…_they_ have it…we aren't bullet proof, Barton!"

"We'll be fine…trust me." Clint assured as he shifted his weight.

Tony's eyebrows hit his hairline.

"_Trust you_?" He scoffed, "Trusting you got us into this mess!"

"You want to blame me, that's fine…" Clint replied sharply, "But right now, I'm all you've got Stark."

"And I'm all_ you've_ got, Barton!" Tony shot back. "This trust shit goes both ways, and we _both _know that you've been playing this like I'm just along for the ride…"

"Stark…" Clint scowled.

"Right now, you've managed to get yourself captured, get all the guards so scared of you that they'll make sure you're already incapacitated before they get close, you've pissed of Le Roux, who for some reason hated you before we even got here, and put me in a situation where I have to do what they want or they're going to hurt you worse because of it…so _thank you_! You've really bolstered my trust, Barton…"

"Stark!"

"If you would just _trust _me and include me on this little merry plan of yours and give me all the information about this that you've been holding back, we might actually have a chance at surviving. I'm not a useless bystander anymore...I can handle being part of the plan!"

"STARK!"

"What?" Tony snapped, turning from his pacing to face him.

"You're right." Clint admitted as he shifted his weight.

"I'm what?" Tony blinked, then straightened, "Of course I'm right."

"I have been holding out on you. But it's not because I don't trust you."

"Really?" Tony challenged. "Would you have trusted me to back up Romanoff?"

Clint frowned, his answer clear in his silence.

"That's what I thought...see…isn't it easier when we're honest."

Clint's eyes suddenly darkened.

"You want _honesty_, Stark?"

Tony frowned, suddenly not so sure.

"_Honestly_, you drive me crazy with all your _bullshit_...you're arrogance, your egocentrism, and your inability to take anything seriously…."

"Way to target my main personality traits." Tony deadpanned.

"_Honestly_ I don't know how people stand you…but your record as Iron Man is undeniable…so obviously you have some redeemable qualities…"

"You say that like its unexpected."

"I don't get you, Stark…I'm pretty good at reading people…and I don't get you…"

"Is that what your glitch with me is? I annoy you and you don't get me? So therefore I'm not to be trusted? Yeah, that's sound reasoning...if you're a _crazy_ person."

"The rest of the team," Clint went on sharply, "I get…I know why they're here…why they do what they do…Cap, he feels like he let his whole generation down…he has this remarkable morality that is unshakable and he's the most patriotic person I've ever met…He's the real deal when you talk about a hero…He does this because it's who he is…

"Bruce…he's ashamed of his green side…he's with us because he's finally found away to use it for good…not to mention your labs feed all his nerdy needs…

"Thor…when the guy's around…he fights with us because he loves Jane and through her he loves our planet…he'll protect it because he loves her…and he genuinely cares about us…he's got a big heart for a warrior god…and he fiercely protects anyone and anything he lets into it…

"Tasha…she's got a ledger that bleeds red…she wants to make up for that…she wants to wipe it clean…so she's doing that…one day at a time…she fights to be redeemed.

"And then there's you…genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist..._right_?" Clint cocked his head mockingly, "You're a billionaire who used to make weapons for a living…then you had a run in with some Afghanis and suddenly you're a changed man…still doesn't explain why you do this…why you wear that suit and fight with us…how can I trust someone, when I don't know their motivation?"

Tony stared at him, suddenly understanding. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"I do it because I can." He finally stated simply.

Clint's eyebrows drew together over his nose as he shifted on the stool.

"I do it because if I can and I don't, what kind of man am I? I watched a good man die in those caves in Afghanistan. He didn't die for any great cause and he died without a lot of fanfare…he died because he had a chance to give _me_ a chance…and he took it…he gave me a shot because he could, no matter the cost to himself…

"So now, I fight as Iron Man…I fight because I have the power to give _other_ people a chance…I had that power for a long time, it just took something like this," He tapped his arc reactor, "for me to figure out how much time I'd wasted."

Clint was quiet as he absorbed Tony's words, shifting silently on the stool.

"So maybe I am arrogant, but I'm a genius...I've earned that…maybe I am egocentric…but you can't change innate personality traits…and maybe I don't take anything seriously…call it a coping mechanism for a high stress job." Tony shrugged.

Clint met his eyes seriously and Tony knew something had changed between them. The impatience and annoyance that usually clouded the archer's gaze was absent. In its place was something else, not exactly trust, but an openness that hadn't been there before.

"Maybe I shouldn't have written you off from the start." Clint admitted. "I've been told I can be...standoffish."

"To say the least." Tony snorted. Clint continued undeterred.

"I've been betrayed before...by people I should have been able to trust…so I don't just give trust blindly…it's earned…usually over time."

"I suppose I can understand that tendency...given you're an _assassin_." Tony allowed. "Not exactly a profession that breeds trust."

"But our circumstances are putting me in a position to move up that time table…like I said in the warehouse…until we're home safe…we can only trust each other…"

"If we're going to do this." Tony started seriously, "we need to keep it all out in the open…I'll keep you updated on that," He jutted his thumb towards the gun, "and you just...keep me clued in on what's going on in that crazy head of yours."

Clint nodded with a sigh, shifting.

"Starting with what the hell is wrong?"

"Huh?" Clint's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"I've seen you sit in the same position for hours without even twitching, now you're shifting all over the place…what is it?"

"Honestly?"

Tony nearly laughed at the smirk on the other man's face. And Barton accused him of not taking things seriously.

"Yes please."

"Broken rib."

Tony sobered.

"Is it bad?"

"Well…it's _broken_." Clint's eyebrow arched as if Tony was an idiot for asking that question, "But it's only one…so..." he shrugged dismissively.

Tony rolled his eyes at the bravado, wondering if it was false for his sake or if one broken rib really was small potatoes to the archer.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Don't suppose you have an ace bandage I can wrap around my rib cage..."

"Ah, no...left all my ace bandages in my other pants."

"Then no...just...just do what you're doing and I'll be fine."

Tony sighed, accepting there was nothing he could do for now.

"If we're going to be doing this whole trust thing…I think you should call me Tony."

Clint stared hard at him and Tony found himself wondering what had caused such a serious bout of reflection. Finally, after several agonizing moments of deliberation, Clint replied.

"Then you should probably call me Clint."

"So, _Clint_," Tony asked as he started carefully disassembling the gun, "who is this Fourie guy that keeps coming up?"

Clint sighed deeply.

"I had a mission a few years ago…it went sideways…Fourie lived to hate me for it."

"Someone on one of your missions _lived_? I thought you never missed." Tony feigned shock.

"I don't." Clint replied sharply, "And I didn't...he just proved to be remarkably resilient." The coldness in Clint's eyes clearly told the billionaire he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Tony decided not to push just yet, but his curiosity was definitely peaked.

"It seems that Le Roux has ties to him."

"It seems." Clint frowned, wondering, not for the first time if he was going to have an unscheduled reunion with his old enemy. He hoped not. He didn't need to have anyone around that could be used against him when he and Fourie met again.

Tony realized he wasn't going to get anymore on the subject right now, so he shifted his focus.

"Who do you think set us up?"

"My money's on Collins." Clint replied immediately.

"That was unexpectedly certain." Tony arched an eyebrow, granting the other man a glance before returning to his work.

"He knew about Fourie…I don't care what he says, Fury would never release classified mission intel of that nature, not without telling me."

"What do you mean _of that nature_?" Tony questioned.

"Something that could get me killed."

"Ah."

"So Collins knew from another source…possibly Le Roux…hell, maybe even Fourie, himself..."

"So Collins is the leak?"

Clint nodded.

"Which means we were screwed from the beginning."

Clint nodded again. "I just don't know how we can prove it."

"I do." Tony grinned. "I hacked their network with my phone when we were in his office…I'm willing to bet I could do it again when we get back and find evidence in his personal computer."

Clint grinned. "Tony, if you didn't make a habit of hacking into every network you came across, I'd be impressed."

"Hmmm…not quite a high five, but I'll take it…" He quirked his lips, "Seriously though, I think we should have a word with him when we get out of this mess…Iron Man and Hawkeye style…" Tony decided.

"And what style would that be?" Clint questioned with an amused arch to his eyebrow.

"I'll blast him and you perforate him with arrows."

"Seems reasonable."

"We'd need background music though…a theme song would be handy in that type of situation."

"We'll get on that…as soon as we escape."

* * *

They'd been left alone for about four hours before Le Roux made another appearance. Tony had completely disassembled the weapon, and was inspecting the piles of weapon parts he'd been supplied with, figuring out what he could use. Clint was dozing on the stool, still crouched, his head resting on the crook of his arm.

Tony glanced at Clint when the archer suddenly tensed, straightening from his semi-relaxed position. The assassin's gray-blue eyes were on the door and he shifted on the stool as if preparing for something. Tony turned when the door slammed open.

Le Roux stalked in with two of his men flanking him with rifles. A third man carried in a metal chair with armrests.

"Kry hom af." _(Get him down.)_ Le Roux pointed at Clint.

"What's going on?" Tony demanded. He watched Clint shift on the stool, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a crouching lion preparing to attack. Le Roux's men hesitated, looking at each other, then at Clint, then at Le Roux.

"Moenie lafaards wees nie!" _(Do not be cowards!)_ Le Roux snapped.

"Maar Remy..." (_But Remy)_ one of the men protested.

"Was 'n dwaas! Daar is drie van julle, en hy word gebind!" (_Was a fool! There are three of you and he is bound!)_ Le Roux shouted, "Nou gaan!" _(Now go!)_

The men inched slowly towards Clint and Tony realized what he'd meant by being able to use their fear. The assassin whispered something in what Tony was coming to recognize as their enemy's native language. The men froze.

"Ek het geen gebruik vir lafaards!" (_I have no use for cowards_.) Le Roux warned firmly to get them moving again.

As soon as one was close enough, Clint struck. He jumped from the stool, wrapping his legs around the nearest one's neck and twisting in the same way he'd killed "Remy". The man dropped and the other two retreated a few steps, whispering fearfully in their native language.

"Dwase! Hy is geen duiwel nie! Hy is vlees en bloed." _(Fools! He's no demon! He's flesh and blood.)_ Le Roux yelled at them. He snatched one of their guns away and stalked over to Clint, driving the butt of the rifle into Clint's already injured side; much like René had done earlier.

The archer grunted, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out. Le Roux kicked the stool out from under him and left Clint hanging there, body tense with pain. He shoved the gun back in his man's hands and turned to Tony. The billionaire had realized what was going on and his mind raced to figure out a way to stop it. No matter how uncomfortable Clint was up there, it seemed a lot safer than down here.

"Why are you doing this? I'm working, just like you wanted me to." Tony protested, watching with wide eyes as the men released the chain and let Clint drop into a heap on the ground.

They moved to grab the archer, who was determined to stoke the fear he'd instilled. He surged to his feet and wrapped his hands around the nearest man's head, one on the jaw, one on the crown of his head. He twisted sharply, hearing the tell-tale snapping of bones. He froze, breathing hard, as a rifle barrel pressed into his temple. He almost took it. He could have, easily. But Le Roux was looking pissed had a gun pointed straight at him.

_Dammit._

"Sit down, Agent Barton, if you please." Le Roux instructed angrily.

Clint hesitated. He didn't want to show weakness in any form. But he needed to stay alive, so he could keep Tony alive and get them both out of this mess. Le Roux looked pissed enough to pull the trigger. He'd be pissed too if a supposedly captured prisoner kept killing his men. He may have pushed a little too hard, he admitted grudgingly, if only to himself.

"You can't take his and dodge mine at the same time." Le Roux pointed out. Clint glared at him darkly and sat.

He didn't move as the final guard, who he recognized as Johan, handcuffed his wrists to the arms of the chair. He didn't wince when the metal bit into his skin sharply. He didn't struggle when his ankles were duck tapped together next.

Two more men came in to clear out the dead bodies, all eyeing Clint with mixtures of hate and fear. Johan in particular, was watching Clint with wide eyed caution, as if he expected him to break his restraints at any moment. Clint's eyes narrowed marginally.

_Interesting._

Then René came in carrying a simple strip of cloth and a jug of water.

"Are you just a sadist? I'm literally doing what you want right now...you coming in here is actually slowing me down." Tony protested as Le Roux put his hand gun away and moved over to Clint, who just watched them all with an eerie calm. Tony moved forward as if to physically intervene, but Johan turned his gun on him in an instant. Tony wanted rip his hair out in frustration.

"I've found that if one wants results, one must provide the proper motivation." Le Roux explained calmly. "René." He nodded to the man with the water and cloth. René handed the water jug to him and moved over to Clint.

"You don't need to do this." Tony tried to reason. "I'll get your damn guns built!"

He and Clint had discussed how he was supposed to act when this time came. Clint had warned him about it, and told him to play along. Act like he was going to do what they wanted. Hopefully that would keep them from being too destructive and rendering Clint incapable of the escape he insisted he could pull off.

Tony found, now that the time was here, that he didn't even need to pretend.

Le Roux looked at him with a sadistic smile.

"Yes, Mr. Stark, you will."

René stretched the cloth across Clint's mouth and nose, forcing his head backwards. Le Roux lifted the jug of water and started pouring it over the cloth.

* * *

Clint closed his eyes, holding his breath as the water soaked the cloth and filled his nostrils. He could hold his breath for exactly 6 minutes and 26 seconds. He knew that to be a fact. He'd learned that fact during a particularly brutal SHIELD anti-interrogation training session. Coulson had been away on an assignment just after Clint had passed his training and been made an Agent. A man named Hanson had been assigned as his temporary handler for those two weeks.

Coulson had come back early to find Clint convulsing behind a very similar wet rag. It had taken him 6 minutes and 26 seconds to start drowning.

He'd been counting.

He remembered the door to the training room bursting open and Coulson letting a litany of curses fly at Hanson as he ripped the cloth of Clint's face and pulled him out of the chair.

He'd pounded on his back, yelling at him to keep coughing. Clint had coughed until he expelled all the water in his lungs and vomited up his breakfast. Then the pounding on his back had stopped and Coulson had been in front of him, strong hands on either side of his face.

"_Breathe, Barton."_ He'd said.

He'd repeated it over and over, staying on his knees in front of Clint until Clint wasn't hyperventilating and he didn't feel like his lungs were trying to turn themselves inside out. Then Coulson had smirked at him.

"_6 minutes and 26 seconds, Barton…that's a record."_

His record had been put to the test a few times over the last nine years, usually with Coulson reminding him over comms that he could hold his breath for 6 minutes and 26 seconds and that the water his head was submerged in, or that was pouring over his face wouldn't last that long.

6 minutes and 26 seconds.

* * *

End of Chapter 6

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* * *

_"Oh, you have a plan?"_

_"Well…half of one." Tony hedged._

_"Let's hear your half a plan." Clint's eyebrows arched in amusement._


	7. Gotta Make Your Own Breaks

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

_It has been gently pointed out that my Russian courtesy of **Google Translate **was in a word...bad...so special thanks to _**Rain in the Dark** _for volunteering to translate for me in the future! :D_

As always, very special thanks to **TuningMyViola** _for actings as South African consultant and Afrikaans translator.._.

_If there's anyone out there that can translate into Hungarian and/or German and is willing to translate some for me for the next story, please let me know! I want to be as authentic as possible, which I'm learning is a serious struggle. _

_Thanks to all my awesome reviewers! You rock my world with your words of encouragement!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_His record had been put to the test a few times over the last nine years, usually with Coulson reminding him over comms that he could hold his breath for 6 minutes and 26 seconds and that the water his head was submerged in, or that was pouring over his face wouldn't last that long._

_6 minutes and 26 seconds._

* * *

_Trust becomes solidified when words consistently back up by deeds- George David Miller_

* * *

Tony focused on sifting through the pile of triggers in front of him. Which trigger he used, ultimately wouldn't matter, but it gave him something to focus on besides the fact that less than an hour ago he'd been forced to watch Clint get water tortured. It gave him a reason not to look at the archer who still coughed off and on every few minutes.

"Tony?"

Tony ignored him. Because as long as he ignored him, he could pretend that none of that had happened. That he wasn't locked up by crazy terrorist _again_, being forced to make some sort of weapon for them _again_, with the weight of someone else's life on his shoulders _again_. It wasn't happening, none of it was.

"Tony!"

Tony stopped picking through the triggers.

"I'm okay. I needed a shower anyway." The wet cough that immediately followed took a lot of credibility out of the claim, but Tony turned around anyway.

"What you _are_ is very far from okay. How are you pulling a Davey Jones right now?"

"Six minutes and twenty six seconds." Clint stated.

"What?" Tony blinked, suddenly concerned the man was delirious.

"I can hold my breath for six minutes and twenty six seconds."

"Okay." Tony shrugged as if he didn't understand the significance of that claim.

"It's why I'm fine…because the average adult male can hold their breath for three minutes, maybe four. No one will expect me to be able to hold my breath for six minutes and twenty six seconds."

"The last time they held kept pouring for almost seven minutes." Tony pointed out bluntly. At Clint's eyebrow arch, he scowled. "I was counting."

"Which is why I coughed like I'd swallowed the ocean after they left…but I'm _still_ fine…because I could hold my breath through the six minutes they did it before that…and the five minutes before that…and the four before that…"

Tony arched an eyebrow and Clint shrugged.

"I was counting too."

"Of course you were." Tony scoffed, turning his back on the archer's pale face. "What the hell kind lunatic is this guy? Providing motivation, my ass."

"It's exactly what he's doing." Clint tested his handcuffs, his eyebrow twitching as the cold metal cut into his wrists. He gave no other signs of pain, because he couldn't afford to right now. As long as Clint could remain stoic, Tony would be able to handle whatever happened next.

"Why? I'm already doing what he wants." Tony demanded, going back to his triggers.

"To make sure you stay focused. It's textbook. He'll probably come back in a few hours…might give us until tomorrow." Clint shrugged again, shifting as his ribs set a shot of pain through his body. He tested his lungs, seeing how deeply he could breathe before the pain was crippling. It was only after a few moments that he realized it wasn't just his ribs. The stab wound on his back was pulsing a constant ache. Great. That's just what he needed.

"How are you so calm?" Tony asked scornfully, though he was secretly grateful for the archer's cool demeanor. "When I got my own version of that hell a few years ago, I don't remember just brushing it off with an '_I needed a shower anyway.' "_

"You must have handled it okay. You had the presence of mind to build that first suit."

"It's not the same. You're all _tough guy_ and _nothing phases me_. I wasn't...I'm not...even now." Tony frowned.

Clint cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Tony, you built an Iron Man suit in the middle of the fucking dessert. Maybe you didn't do things the way I would have. But _I _can't build an Iron Man suit...so I settle for a more hands on approach." He rattled his handcuffs in demonstration.

Tony still looked unconvinced.

"I'm trained for this type of thing. You _aren't_. And you _still _managed to come out on top. So don't sell yourself short. Believe me, if I hadn't needed them to bring us here so we could find Le Roux and that weapon, I totally would have let you blast the hell out of those guys at the warehouse. But we had to do things my way this time...and my way is admittedly _less_ pleasant..."

"No shit, Sherlock." Tony scoffed, but his shoulders were straighter and the self-depreciating look was out of his eyes.

"But it's not the first time I've done this. So have a little faith." Clint stated offhandedly.

Tony stiffened and Clint's brow furrowed.

"That's the second time you've talked about this happening before. Was it like this?" He asked without turning around.

"Well not _exactly_ like this…" Clint replied glancing around the room as if he were comparing experiences.

"But something like it?" Tony demanded impatiently, spinning to meet the archer's calm gaze.

"Yeah, Tony, it was." Clint answered simply. "I've told you as much. Why the curiosity? I thought you and the good Captain hacked SHIELD's personnel files." He arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

"We did…well _I_ did…Star Spangled just read over my shoulder. Your file was 60% redacted, even in SHIELD's computers. Romanoff's was about the same."

"Well, we are _covert_ _assassins_." Clint pointed out. "As far as I know, there is only one full copy of my file. Fury has it in a safe somewhere along with Tasha's."

"All your file ever mentioned was _incidents_ on missions. The details were blacked out. I didn't realize at the time that _this_," He gestured at Clint, handcuffed to a metal chair and still damp, "was what that meant."

"It wasn't always. Sometimes it was when I breached protocol bad enough to get written up…or got shot," His eyes grew reflective, "that happened a lot." He mused as if only just now realizing the frequency with which he tended to be acquainted with the wrong end of a bullet. He glanced at the graze on his arm thoughtfully.

"Breached protocol…" Tony stared at him with a pondering gaze, "Romanoff." He deduced.

Clint nodded.

"Fury almost fired me over that. Coulson talked him out of it and then slammed me with a two week shithole assignment in Uzbekistan." Clint scowled. "I almost got killed though, so he forgave me when I got back."

Tony blinked, shaking his head to clear it of Clint's musings.

"How many times have you been captured?"

"You mean how many times have I been tortured?" Clint corrected knowingly. "Enough to know what I can take." he deflected, "These guys," He nodded at the door, "won't even come close."

"You seem unduly confident." Tony crossed his arms doubtfully.

Clint chuckled darkly.

"Trust me, Tony; I've had way worse than these guys could ever dream up."

"That's truly horrifying." Stark shook his head in shock.

"Yeah." Clint sighed, his eyes flashing with something Stark couldn't identify. Memory maybe.

"I should get back to work." Tony cleared his throat, and turned away.

"Have you figured how to build the prototypes?" Clint asked, watching Tony work with rapt attention.

"Building the guns is easy." Tony replied. "It's harnessing and using that blue energy that'll be difficult, probably impossible for the average minded person. Of course I've never been average, so I could probably figure out a way. But something tells me creating several working prototypes of HYDRA style guns is _not_ something that would be smiled upon by the powers that be...so..."

"Escape before it comes to that?" Clint suggested.

"Preferably…I can build the guns. It'll take me some time, but I can do it. I just need him to believe that dealing with _that," _he pointed at parts of the original, "would come last. I just hope you get your opening sooner rather than later."

"Trust me; Tony...I've got it under control." Clint assured.

_Yeah, you've got it under control. That's why you spent ten minutes coughing up water...that's why you're handcuffed to a metal chair with a broken rib...under control my ass, Feather Head._

* * *

Le Roux visited only once more over the next twelve hours. This time Clint was on the receiving end of a fairly brutal beating courtesy of Johan.

Tony had remained uncharacteristically unanimated throughout the entire thing, alternating between glaring at Rene who held a rifle on him the whole time, glaring at Le Roux who was watching with morbid enjoyment, and wincing and flinching right along with Clint.

The archer, for his part, didn't make a sound the entire time, except to spit different Russian phrases at his attacker and occasionally taunt him in his own language. Tony didn't know what he was saying, but every time Clint said something in Afrikaans, the man beating him would look momentarily terrified and pause before resuming his attack.

After they'd left, Tony had watched Clint casually spit out a molar and a huge glob of blood.

"It was fake anyways." He'd slurred, as if loosing teeth was nothing more than an annoyance that even the most average person should be used to. And the beating he'd gotten was nothing more than child's play. The bravado fell flat, however, when Clint's eyes drifted closed a moment later and his chin fell to rest on his chest.

* * *

Tony worked feverishly while he waited for Clint to wake, organizing parts and making plans for assembly. He had just started preparing to put the first of the pieces together when Clint flinched into consciousness, rattling his handcuffs as he pulled violently at them.

"Whoa, hey, calm down…" Tony abandoned his project and moved over to him. Clint's left eye was half closed with swelling. His right was bloodshot as he scanned the room in a panic. His eyes fell on Tony and he froze. The genius could almost see the memories of what had happened play in rapid sequence through the man's mind. Clint's eyes flicked to the pile of pieces of weaponry and then back to Tony.

"What happened?" His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat immediately after speaking.

"They did you like Fight Club until you spit out a tooth and passed out." Tony told him, casually crouching in front of him, trying to play off the torture session as effectively as Clint seemed to in the past.

"How long have I been out?" Clint's voice was getting stronger, and he gingerly stretched his jaw, relieved it felt nothing but bruised.

"About six hours."

"Well damn."

"That was my thought." Tony crossed his arms. "I was about to start assembling." He announced, trying to change the subject.

Clint eyed the havoc Tony's work ethic had created in the room.

"You've been busy."

"Well I thought about sitting back, getting a massage and a latté, but their masseuse was…horrendous…all big arms and _Call me Helga_…" his voice took on a deep German accent with the words before returning to his normal tone, "and their latté's probably have goat milk or something in them…_gross_…so I figured I'd just do this instead." He held motioned at the pile of pieces.

Clint laughed a little at Tony's babbling, finding it oddly comforting. He eyed the pile absently as Tony returned to it.

"Tony?"

"Yes, dear?" Tony replied easily, starting assembly.

"We need a reason for them to let me out of this chair."

"That's gonna be hard to swing." Tony glanced at him, "You're plan to make the natives restless was a little too effective. They're afraid to let you out of that thing."

Clint frowned. He'd never admit it, but Tony had a point.

"Then I'll have to give them a reason to think I won't be a threat."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?"

"Because it probably won't be pleasant…"

"Do you have a plan?"

"Half of one…but you're not going to like it."

"Do tell." Tony drawled as he continued fitting pieces together.

"They'll have to go another round with me for it to be believable."

"Is there a particular reason you can't just suddenly grow faint and convince them now?" Tony demanded. Barton had been right, he didn't like this plan.

"No way Le Roux would buy it, not all the sudden like that. He didn't become the leader in black market arms dealing by being an idiot."

Tony was silent for a moment.

"You _do_ realize that's a _terrible_ plan, Feather Head."

"Yeah…well it's the only one we've got."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh, _you_ have a plan?"

"Well…half of one." Tony hedged.

"Let's hear your half a plan." Clint's eyebrows arched in amusement.

"I create an actual weapon and kill Le Roux with it."

Clint blinked.

"_That's_ a terrible plan, Metal for Brains. I have no doubt you could build the gun, but Le Roux never comes in alone. By the time you put him down, his men would put you down...and then they'd put _me_ down...and that's an outcome we're trying to avoid."

"Well I did say it was only half a plan."

"The _bad_ half apparently."

"Well you can't expect me to do all the work. What use have you been? Huh? You've been sitting around this whole time." Tony shot back with a huff.

Clint couldn't help it. He smiled.

Tony turned back to his work and smiled too.

"You know..." Clint cocked his head thoughtfully, "building a real gun might not be a _completely_ bad idea...not to use on Le Roux...because that just wouldn't work out in our favor...but you'll need something for defense until you get your case back...what would you use for ammo?"

"I could melt down some of this stuff...rig up some sort of cast for bullets..." Tony suggested, staring at his pile of discarded pieces contemplatively.

"What about the HYDRA gun...?" Clint hedged.

"What about it?"

"Could you activate it?"

Tony turned to look at him, then at the HYDRA weapon that currently laid in pieces.

"You do know who I am, right? Of course I could, but I'd have to alter it's make up. Essentially create a new weapon from the old parts. Whatever they did to disable it was pretty effective."

"Could you find a way to get the energy output under control? So you know...you don't take out a wall."

"Undoubtedly...but it might not be stable and I can't really run tests in here. We'd have to go on faith..."

Clint smirked.

"I'm okay with that...I think you've got a side project there, Metal Head."

"See...working together is good. Our two crappy half plans are now one crappy whole plan."

* * *

"Pepper's going to kill me for letting this happen again." Tony sighed as he worked on reassembling the HYDRA weapon.

"At least she's not a Russian assassin with more knowledge on how to kill a man than the devil himself." Clint shot back.

"You think Stalin will be mad too."

"She'll be furious. She gets pissed when I scare her…usually calls me nasty names in Russian."

"Huh…Pepper usually just lectures me and then kisses my boo-boos better." Tony smiled sadly, wondering if he'd ever get to hear another Pepper lecture again. He'd grown very fond of them.

"You'll get back to her, Tony."

"Yeah, I know."

"You will."

Tony looked up and met the archer's eyes. He couldn't help but believe the sincerity he saw there. He only hoped he could return the favor for the archer and the Russian time bomb.

"You realize if we _do_ get out of this alive, you're the one that's going to explain to the women why we _let_ ourselves get captured. Stalin may understand, be proud even, but _Pepper_…prepare to face a fury you've never faced before." Tony warned ominously.

Clint blinked at him, imagining Pepper yelling and threatening him with a frying pan or something similar. The image was as funny as it was terrifying.

"I'll make her some spaghetti…then she'll forgive me." He shrugged.

Tony considered for a moment.

"You know, I don't know what it is about that stuff. She'd kill for it. Nearly skewered me with her fork once to get at it before anybody else." He revealed with an offended huff.

"Woman has good taste, Tony." Clint shrugged again. After a beat he added, "In _food_ at least."

"Ha…ha…" Tony drawled, glaring at him. "I should have known you wouldn't flirt that close to a compliment without a snarky comment waiting in the wings."

"And here I thought we were getting to know each other." Clint shook his head in mock disappointment.

"I'll know for next time and wait for the other shoe to drop before I start being touched."

* * *

"What happened to the money?" Tony asked after an hour had passed. They'd talked amicably, tossing taunts and insults back and forth, for a good while. It was entertaining, they'd both realized, to exercise the sarcastic parts of their vocabulary without the purpose of riling each other up. They'd quieted after about 30 minutes though, Tony focusing on his work and Clint contemplating his plans for escape silently.

The archer blinked now, clearing the haze that had fallen over his eyes and focusing on Tony. Absently he wondered if it had gotten hotter in their little room. He arched an eyebrow at the billionaire's question.

"What money?" Clint replied with a confused frown.

"The money you made while you were a dirty dealing assassin. You know, before SHIELD." Tony clarified with a glance over his shoulder.

"Encrypted bank account." Clint revealed vaguely.

"How much?" Tony couldn't help but ask; he didn't know the going rate for an assassin ten years ago. He was curious.

"There was about 30 million when I joined SHIELD...with ten years of interest." Clint shrugged.

"When you joined SHIELD? You mean you don't spend it?" Tony gaped, "You have _well_ over 30 million dollars and you don't spend it?"

"It's blood money, Tony." Clint frowned. "I haven't touched it since Phil recruited me."

"So you're just going to let it sit there, getting bigger, and never use it."

"I didn't say that." Clint smirked, "If the unpredictable happens and Tasha and I have to start over. It'll help us do that."

Tony shook his head in amazement.

"So you and Romanoff…" he wondered.

"What?"

"You two are…" Tony questioned cryptically, motioning with his hand vaguely.

"Are what, Tony?" Clint asked, enjoying the frustration blooming on Tony's face.

"You know..._together_…in a relationship. Like me and Pepper? Set to run off together one day and apparently buy your own island."

Clint's storm colored eyes grew contemplative as he considered Tony's question.

Tony, for his part, had wondered about the two master assassins for some time now. They were sleeping together, that fact was _obvious_. But he couldn't tell if the two had anything beyond that. They both kept their emotions so tightly guarded, even around the team. Now seemed like as good a time as any to ask. He knew Steve knew something, because he never seemed as baffled by the couple as the rest of them. But the super soldier was better at keeping secrets than the CIA, so he wasn't revealing anything.

"It's not really like you and Pepper." Clint finally replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You two…what? Talk about getting married someday? Having little Iron Mans running around?"

"Someday...yeah…but nothing's on a timetable." Tony shrugged.

"Me and Tasha…we've never talked about it, not once, and never will. Never talked about kids either."

"You don't see yourself ending up with her?" Tony guessed.

"Tony, I plan on spending the rest of my life with her, but we're _assassins_. There's no picket fence, no little Hawkeyes and Black Widows in our future. Our lives will end in blood. That's just the way it is. We both accept that, and swore to make the most of the time we did have. My rainy day fund will probably never get used..."

"You do realize that's not only intensely melodramatic, it's also only one possibility. You two may be assassins, but you're the best at what you do. Who's to say you won't make it to retirement age?"

"Who's to say we will? Tony, every time we take a mission from SHIELD we have to accept that there are two possible outcomes: we die or we survive to try the odds again. Living like we do, accepting that tomorrow might not come. It helps us be _content_ every day. If I die tomorrow, my only regret will be that I didn't get to tell her goodbye. You can't grieve a future you didn't expect to get anyway."

"I don't know whether that's incredibly sad or incredibly stupid…" Tony stared at him bemusedly. "Either way, you're story is a tragedy waiting to be written."

Clint shrugged, unconcerned, glancing down at his bloody wrists and testing them against the handcuffs.

Tony watched him for a moment. He decided, standing there with half a gun in his hand, that he was making sure Clint got back to Natasha, no matter what it took. Maybe their story _was_ a tragedy, and maybe they never would buy their own island and retire in peace with 30 million dollars plus interest.

But that ending wasn't coming today, not on Tony's watch.

Pepper must be rubbing off on him, because all he could think about was how much those two _insane _assassins belonged together and he was going to be damned if a black market arms dealer in a country Clint hated was going to be the reason they didn't get a chance at a private island paradise.

_Damn Pepper and her damn chic-flicks._

* * *

Tony had returned to silence, giving Clint a chance to rest his eyes without the aid of unconsciousness. He glanced up when the man blinked awake only ten minutes later. Obviously sleep wasn't going to come easily. He could tell Clint was hiding how much pain he was in, for Tony's sake no doubt. What the archer needed was a distraction.

Tony was good at those.

"So I told you mine. Now you tell me yours."

Clint blinked; sure he'd heard the man wrong.

"Come again?"

"The reason I fight. I told you mine. What's yours?"

Clint blinked again, trying to see if Tony was serious. The genius just held his gaze, genuinely interested.

"Because what the hell else am I gonna do?" Clint finally admitted after several long moments.

Tony's brow furrowed as he shifted one of the pieces of the gun.

"Care to expound?"

Clint looked away, his eyes going to the very small air vent in the ceiling. It kept the air from growing stagnant. He wondered how big the air duct in the ceiling was. He wondered if it was big enough for him to hide in.

"Clint?" Tony prompted.

The archer sighed, weighing his words carefully before he spoke them. His eyes never left the air vent.

"There is no _one_ reason why I do what I do...there's a lifetime of them..." He blinked, his eyes growing distant, "I do it because I've seen too many innocent people hurt or killed, and I want to kill the scumbags in the world before they can up that number..."

_He would never tell Tony that **he**, Clint Barton, was one of those innocents once upon a time._

"I do it because even though the Army turned on me the moment I didn't live up to their standard, I still want to protect the people in this country..."

_He would never tell Tony that he'd hated everything about the United States military after they'd arrested him. Then he'd met Phil and found something to fight for again._

"I do it because in the single year I was a mercenary after the Army and before SHIELD I killed more people than most assassins would in three lifetimes. So I've got a lot to make up for..."

_He would never tell Tony that for the short time he'd been an assassin for hire, he'd hated every minute of it. The idea of killing for money was so weak. And a seven year old Clint had once promised himself he would never be weak again._

"Maybe it's just because I'm too damn good at this not to do it. What else can I do, but this? What else could I do that wouldn't be a waste?"

_He would never tell Tony that he never wanted to do anything else, even if it killed him one day. He had a purpose as a SHIELD agent, as an Avenger. He fought for something, every day, and it kept him grounded. Without that focus, that purpose, he was afraid he would disappear into the shadows he loved so much. He was afraid he would become the person he was after the Army, before SHIELD, and there would be no Phil Coulson to pull him back from the edge, to keep him from becoming one of the men he sighted on the other side of an arrow._

Tony listened quietly, unaware of the dark memories behind each reason. He was quiet for a time even after Clint fell silent, the archer's eyes inexplicably on the air vent. Perhaps wishing he could disappear into it, as he often did the ones back at the tower when he wanted to get away and not be found. Finally, Tony cleared his throat.

"A lifetime of reasons..." he mused quietly, "You forgot one. Something I've noticed from personal experience."

Clint's eyes finally shifted from the vent to focus on him and he sat, waiting.

"Strength. Strength to do what's right, no matter the personal cost. Isn't that why we're here?" Tony motioned around their prison. "Because _you_ wouldn't let me walk away from what was right? What we _had_ to do, even though you knew what would happen?"

"That's not some special strength Tony. I had a mission, that's all."

"If that's what you think, than you're an idiot and that IQ of yours is a fluke." Tony shot back firmly. "I don't know where along the way, you decided you weren't worth anything but the weight of your arrows, but Clint, every one of those reasons you just gave me...I don't know anyone that could accumulate that _many_ reasons for doing good, without being strong as steel. Anybody else never would have made it past the first one."

Clint blinked at him, baffled by the words the billionaire was speaking. He'd never known Tony to compliment someone _ever_.

"What the hell, Tony?"

Stark shrugged, clearing his throat.

"I have a heart..." he tapped his arc reactor, "and I am capable of a compliment. I just don't do it unless conditions are extreme and as you can see," He motioned around the room again, "beyond extreme. So don't get used to it. Once you get us out of this mess, we'll never speak of this again."

Clint chuckled. He'd accept that reasoning. But he guaranteed he'd hold those words over Stark's head until the day he died, and he'd bring it up. Often.

* * *

End of Chapter 7

Thanks for reading! Reviews make me happy!

Here's your preview!

* * *

_"And what are you going to do? While I do all the work?" Tony demanded._

_The grin turned to a dark smirk._

_"First…I'm going to find my weapons…then…I'm going to kill every last one of them."_


	8. The Ones Who Stood Their Ground

_Sorry! Reposting to correct a few errors!_

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

As always, very special thanks to **TuningMyViola** _for actings as South African consultant and Afrikaans translator.._.

_Continued thanks to _**Rain in the Dark**_ for agreeing to be my Russian translator in the future._

_Thank you to _**Khell**_ for volunteering to act as my translator for German in the future! :)_

_And if anyone can translate into Hungarian and would be willing to translate a little for me please let me know! _

_Thanks to all reviewers and readers!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Last Time:_

_"I have a heart..." he tapped his arc reactor, "and I am capable of a compliment. I just don't do it unless conditions are extreme and as you can see," He motioned around the room again, "beyond extreme. So don't get used to it. Once you get us out of this mess, we'll never speak of this again."_

_Clint chuckled. He'd accept that reasoning. But he guaranteed he'd hold those words over Stark's head until the day he died, and he'd bring it up. Often._

* * *

_There are indeed times when one should trust blindly, just as there are times when one should not. Wisdom consists in being able to tell one from the other. -Daniel Quinn_

* * *

Clint blinked, trying to dispel the haze that was trying to settle over his mind. He was hot, so hot, and thirsty. He'd had a fever enough times to know what it felt like. No doubt he had some sort of infection brewing. If the heat emanating from the bullet graze on his arm was anything to go by, he was being taken down by a flesh wound.

They also hadn't had any food or water in almost two days now. He'd gone much longer without either, but he could hear Tony's stomach rumbling from across the room.

He blinked again, frowning when a chill racked his abused body. His thoughts were getting fuzzy, and Clint pulled against his handcuffs, the pain sharpening his mind.

Tony was done reassembling the HYDRA weapon. He was certain it would work now, but since he wasn't in a position to test it, he couldn't be sure if he'd recalibrated it enough to not take out the whole wall when he used it. Clint had told him that as long as _he_ wasn't in front of, behind, or next to the wall...it didn't really matter. Tony'd just have to be careful when he used it.

Now Tony was working furiously to assemble fake prototypes to keep Le Roux happy. He was more focused than Clint had ever seen him.

Clint blinked again, trying to force himself to stay focused. But it was too damn hot and he felt himself slipping back in time, to the last time he was in this country that hated him.

It was official; he was never taking a mission in South Africa again.

* * *

_3 years 2 months ago..._

* * *

_Mission Number: D-15728_

_Code Name: Zion_

_Location: Cape Town, South Africa_

_Agent In Charge: Phillip "Overwatch" Coulson (ID: 235987YT)_

_Field Agent(s) Assigned: Clint "Hawkeye" Barton (ID: 494762DZ)_

_Threat Level: High_

_Level of Force: Lethal_

_Target: Abrehem Fourie_

_Clint bounced his feet where he had them propped against the back of the empty co-pilot's chair, silently keeping beat with the song he was listening to on his iPod. He flipped to the next page in the brief, staring at the picture of Abrehem Fourie standing in a café with a young man. Clint knew it to be his son, Josia Fourie. As he stared at the picture, he memorized every detail of Fourie senior's face, from the distance apart his eyes were set to the hint of grey in his short cropped hair. He had to be able to identify this man in possibly extreme conditions with very little time to deliberate._

"_Cape Town is beautiful this time of year." Coulson commented idly as he looked over his own brief._

"_Are you saying I'll get to work on my tan?" Clint asked with a smirk._

"_We have a two week window…if we happen to complete our mission before that time has expired, we may be able to arrange some R&R. Didn't you say there was a local place you loved last time you were here?" Coulson shrugged as if it didn't matter to him either way._

"_I promised Tasha I'd take my next R&R with her." Clint sighed._

_Coulson glanced at his twenty four year old agent._

"_You and Agent Romanoff seem to be growing increasingly **intimate**." Coulson observed delicately. Clint gave him a withering look._

"_Why don't you just ask me what you want to ask me?"_

"_You're sleeping together?"_

"_Is that mission relevant?" Clint taunted._

"_Clint." Coulson sighed, "You know there are rules about that…"_

"_What's Fury going to do? Fire me? If he didn't fire me for bringing her in against orders, he won't fire me for sleeping with her." Clint waved away his handler's concern._

"_She's dangerous." Coulson reminded._

"_Yeah, well so am I."_

"_In a different way…she's a manipulator, Clint."_

"_I **know**." Clint gave up all pretenses of reading his brief. "She's with us, Phil…trust me."_

"_What the hell happened with you two in Vietnam three months ago?" Phil shook his head bemusedly._

"_Wouldn't you like to know?" Clint grinned._

* * *

Clint blinked when Tony tossed a piece of metal away, sending it clattering across the concrete to his throw away pile. The archer wasn't sure why _that_ particular memory had come to him. In the long list of conversations he'd had during that clusterfuck of a mission, it ranked at the bottom of the priority list. The situation that _had_ followed _had _been remarkably like this one though.

What had Coulson told him over their comms after he'd been caught?

_If a situation for escape doesn't present itself…create one…make it genuine, something that would probably happen eventually anyway if you weren't so goddamned stubborn._

Clint grinned wearily. Coulson just couldn't stop coaching him, even now.

* * *

Tony had been inspecting his row of completed guns when the door slammed open. His teammate had been sleeping, fighting a wicked fever that had taken over sometime during the last several hours. Even that couldn't dull his instincts though and Clint jerked awake a second before the door had opened, as if sensing their approach.

Le Roux came in with Johan, then René came trailing behind. Tony was sure he was more concerned than Clint when René rolled in large contraption whirring with electricity. Johan held his gun easily on Tony as Le Roux approached him and René headed for the slightly glassy eyed Clint.

"It has been nearly two days, Mr. Stark…and I while you've built some beautiful weapons there…I'm not seeing anything remotely like that blue energy powering it…that was your job, remember…is it that I haven't given you enough incentive?" Le Roux asked. He was talking to Tony, but he had moved to stand in front of Clint.

"I'm incentivized…trust me…and I'm making progress." Tony drew the attention back to himself.

"Are you?" Le Roux asked, turning to look at him fully.

"Yes."

"When do you suppose the first test will be ready?"

Tony flicked a glance at Clint, whose eyes were clearing with astounding speed.

"Tomorrow."

He was a pretty good liar when he needed to be. But he found his palms sweating as he waited for Le Roux to respond.

"How intriguing…perhaps something to remind you of how serious I am…René."

René moved forward and tapped the two metal rods connected to the contraption together, grinning evilly at the sparks that the action produced.

Clint's eyebrow twitched, then he forced himself to smile like this was going to be fun. Adrenaline had surged through his system the moment they came into the room, clearing his mind and bringing back his wandering focus. He looked straight at Tony, conveying as much as he could with his eyes that now was the time. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect torture method to make his plan seem genuine. He prepared himself mentally and resisted the urge to move away when René approached, instead focusing on the fact this would give him the opportunity he needed. He just needed to keep his mind clear and focused until the time was right.

He could take it.

* * *

"Barton?" Tony questioned when the archer smiled like this was going to be _fun_. Tony felt his respect for the younger man double. Anyone who could laugh in the face of _that_ was made of steel.

Then Clint looked at him and Tony knew. Knew whatever crazy plan the archer had concocted was about to come into play.

"I can take it." Clint met his eyes again only briefly, reminding Tony firmly he had everything under control.

Then the archer shut down, mentally checked out. Tony could literally imagine a _'gone fishin', be back in an hour' _sign hanging around his neck. He didn't know if he was comforted that Clint was taking at least some measure to protect himself, or terrified that this was going to be_ that_ bad.

René cut off Clint's shirt roughly, managing to nick the man a few times in the effort, on purpose, Tony was sure. Clint had remained unconcerned.

Everyone froze when Le Roux's radio squawked to life. Clint released a sharp breath, glancing at Tony in confusion. Tony shrugged slightly as they listened to Le Roux bark at someone over the radios. Clint's eyes widened a little as he listened, and he glanced at Tony again, trying to communicate with his eyes.

"Unfortunately," Le Roux turned back to them, "I have a very important call and will be unable to stay and enjoy the festivities. I'm sure René and Johan can take good care of you."

With that, Le Roux stalked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Tony looked at Clint, narrowing his eyes as he tried to decipher what instructions he was being given. Clint looked down at himself then at René. Then he looked pointedly at Tony, then at Johan.

Tony nodded that he understood. Clint didn't acknowledge him any further, shuttering his expression once again as René moved towards him with the rods for a second time.

* * *

The first shock was enough to make Clint and Tony flinch together. Clint's hands whitened around the armrests as he gripped it as an outlet for the pain. The second shock elicited a muffled grunt that Clint managed to swallow back quickly.

_I can take it_.

He watched the third shock come. His left eyebrow twitched. The only indication of pain he gave. He showed no reaction to the fourth shock as he cloaked himself deeper in his mantra.

_I can take it._

He waited as René brought the rods back once more.

_I can take it._

He clenched his teeth, refusing to give the bastard the satisfaction of a scream. Almost there.

_I can take it._

* * *

Tony didn't want to watch, but he didn't want to risk missing Clint's plan coming into effect. So he stood like a stone, glaring at Johan and René in turn. Wishing uselessly that he could blast them both with his HYDRA weapon and be done with it. René was too close to Clint though, and no way was Tony risking anything until Clint was free.

_Come on, Clint. What are you waiting for?_

As if hearing his silent plea, Clint's head suddenly snapped back, his eyes rolled up, and he started violently convulsing.

René jumped back. Johan whispered the word "demon" in his native language.

It was Tony that spoke first.

"Well what are you waiting for, you assholes? Him to keel over?"

René moved to release him.

"Wait!" Johan snapped. "It could be a trick!"

"Are you kidding me?" Tony snapped. "He's had a steadily rising fever for over 9 hours! Now you've shocked him into convulsions! If he dies, your boss's guns aren't getting finished. I promise you that, you sons of bitches."

René frowned, remembering Tony's promise of a demonstration the next day.

"Le Roux will kill us both if he dies." René hissed.

"Wait!" Johan protested. "You cannot release the demon!"

"Damn you, Johan, and your superstition! He's no demon!" René scolded sharply.

Johan threw his hands up in frustration as René cut the duct tape on Clint's ankles and then moved for the handcuffs.

Tony eyed his HYDRA gun, then eyed Clint. Somehow he didn't think Clint would appreciate him drawing that kind of attention right off the bat. He slid his hand over his work bench, closing his fingers around a wrench.

René released the second of the handcuffs and Clint stopped convulsing so abruptly is was like a switch had been flipped. He braced his hands on the arm rests and used the leverage to pull his knees to his chest and then send his boots into René's chest.

Tony watched as Johan's gun dropped in shock and then he threw the wrench, pleasantly surprised when it slammed into the back of Johan's main gun hand and the rifle clattered to the ground. Tony launched himself over the workbench and dove at Johan, only barely managing to avoid getting skewered by the knife the man suddenly produced. He got a nice cut opened up on his arm, but managed to avoid any serious injury.

Tony wrapped his hand around Johan's wrist and slammed the man back against the wall. He drew the knife hand away from the wall and slammed it back against the concrete again. Johan's fist rammed into his cheek and Tony drove his elbow into the guy's neck, slamming the hand again. The fist hit his ribs next, and Tony growled in annoyance before slamming the wrist one last time and putting his knee it Johan's groin. As Johan doubled and the knife clattered to the floor, Tony brought the point of his elbows down into Johan's back. The man dropped to his hands and knees and Tony drove his foot as hard as he could into the man's face. He crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

Tony grabbed the knife and turned in time to see Clint get bodily slammed into the top of the workbench and roll off it to a heap on the ground. René was about to pursue him when he suddenly screamed in pain, wheeling around and clutching at his back. Tony backed away, dodging the large man as he tried uselessly to get at the knife between his shoulder blades.

Clint was suddenly climbing over the table, and launching himself onto Rene's back, grabbing the knife and pulling it out. He brought it around and across René's throat in the next breath. He pushed himself away from the body as it fell, stumbling to the ground himself.

He rolled to his hands and knees, breathing deeply to dispel the nausea that threatened to overtake him. Fake seizure or not, electrocution did a number on you and so did getting your ass kicked across a room. His head was spinning and his stomach insisted on crawling up his throat.

"Clint? You okay?" Tony asked, kneeling in front of him.

Clint blinked and suddenly Tony was gone, the whole room was gone and in its place was a similar cell, 3 years in the past.

* * *

"Hawkeye!"_ Coulson yelled at him over the comms. _"Answer me, dammit!"

"_Cool it, Overwatch…I'm...**mostly**…good." Clint coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. He used his tongue to feel the small communication device implanted in his fake molar._

"Sit rep!"

"_Detained against my will." Clint informed cheerfully. He could almost hear his handler's eye roll._

"Status?"

"_Gunshot to the left side…through and through."_

"Blood loss?"

"_Still happening." Clint groaned, shifting against the stone wall of his cell._

"Do something about it."_ Coulson snapped. _"Are you compromised?"

"_I ditched my bow before they caught up with me…three blocks north of their building in a dumpster…They haven't acted like they know why I was watching them…didn't mean they weren't pissed though." He said the last part under his breath, almost hoping Coulson didn't hear it._

"What did they do?"

"_Nothing much…just showed me some of their old fashioned hospitality."_

_Hospitality was their code for "they beat me into unconsciousness" without Clint actually having to admit it had happened._

"I'm calling for an extraction."

"_Wait!" Clint groaned, shifting again. "I can take it…and I can still finish this."_

"The mission is blown, Hawkeye…it's time to get you out of there."

"_It's not blown…Fourie's going to want to talk to me himself…be ready for me to come out hot after I eliminate him."_

"You really think you can pull this off?"

"_Trust me…I'm gonna do it like Sao Paulo four years ago."_

"You were in medical for a month after that." Coulson reminded mildly, already knowing he was going to agree.

"_I can take it, Overwatch…I'll get it done."_

* * *

"Clint?"

Clint blinked. Tony was back in front of him.

"I'm fine." He told Tony as convincingly as he could manage.

"Sure you are." Tony's disbelief was as plain in his tone as it was in his expression.

"You remind me of him." Clint stated suddenly, wondering idly if he was delirious. He didn't usually just _say_ things.

Tony blinked.

"Who?"

"Phil…he and I never agreed on anything either…"

"I do see the similarity there…" Tony admitted, "By the way…is there a reason you couldn't pull your Emily Rose routine _before_ the whole electrocuting you thing?" Tony demanded.

"It had to be believable. Before would have been too convenient. I needed a catalyst...that was a surprisingly convenient one."

"For the record…still a terrible plan." Tony huffed, wrapping a hand around Clint's elbow when the man latched onto his arm.

"Yeah, well…it worked didn't it." Clint shot back, struggling to his feet with Tony's help. He wavered so heavily when he got there, that Tony's grip on his elbow tightened painfully.

"Nice job with Johan...you hurt?" Clint asked breathlessly.

"Nothing serious." Tony assured.

"Good call not using the weapon." Clint praised. "Surprise is the best thing we have going for us right now."

Tony smirked.

"I'm getting better at this super spy thing." He eyed Clint carefully as the man slowly pulled away from Tony's supporting hand.  
"You sure you can do this?"

"I've done more with worse."

"Again with the horrifying statements. You need to stop saying things like that."

"Come on...stay behind me" Clint directed, wiping his new knife on his pants to remove René's blood. "We need to find the tech room." Clint braced his hand against the door, wishing his vision would stop wavering.

"Well let's get on with it." Tony waved his hand impatiently, moving quickly to grab his HYDRA gun. They needed to get going, because if the gasping quality to Clint's voice and the way he kept blinking deliberately were anything to go by, the other man was running on pure stubbornness and adrenaline.

Clint nodded and pulled the door open, leading the way into the quiet hallway.

* * *

Clint forced the pain in his body out of his mind; it was something that could be dealt with later. Right now, he needed his steps sure and silent. Coulson had always said he didn't know when to quit. He always got up, always kept coming, even when he shouldn't have been able to. It had kept him alive more times than he cared to count.

Now, as he crept around a corner, grabbing a guard from behind and wrapping one hand around his mouth at the same time he pulled the knife across his throat, he called upon that stubbornness again. He only had to last a little longer. Shoot straight and stay silent. Then they could go home. He had Tony help him dump the guard in an empty closet.

He could do it.

He had to do it.

* * *

They found the control room by accident. Clint pushed the door open and surprised the one man who was watching the equipment. Clint sprang into the room, snapping the man's throat before he even processed that he was in danger.

Tony followed him in and closed the door.

"You got this?" Clint asked, motioning at the two computers. Tony gave him an offended look that brought a smirk to the archer's lips. "I'm going up." He pointed at the large vent cover above them. "Get their radios offline, that'll put them in the dark...and then use that fancy gun of yours to beat it out of here and try not to bring the building down on my head."

"Where do I meet you?"

"In the woods east of here. If you happen to get a shot at Le Roux...take it." Clint answered seriously.

"And what are you going to do? While I do all the work?" Tony demanded.

The grin turned to a dark smirk.

"First…I'm going to find my weapons…then…I'm going to kill every last one of them."

With that, Clint climbed gingerly onto the desk and with a deep breath, levered himself up into the vent.

Tony tried to hear him move away, but all was silent. He cracked his knuckles and turned to the monitors. One showed live feeds of the _two_ cameras they had monitoring the compound. One was pointed at the only road in or out, and another was watching the forest behind them. The second computer digitally monitored the radios.

"Oh please...this is like asking Da Vinci to draw a stick figure."

* * *

Clint found their supply room first. He eyed the box of C-4 on the shelf and the coiled rope on the wall. He noted the room in his mental map, fully intending to pay a return visit and do some shopping. He continued silently on his trek and finally found what he was looking for.

Clint paused over the small room Le Roux was in. He was talking with one of his men, motioning over a map spread out on a table. It seemed Le Roux's call was over.

He eyed the map before something on a far table drew his attention. His bow, quiver, rifle and Tony's case. _Bingo_. Two other men were in the room, listening as Le Roux issued orders. Clint waited, biding his time. It only took a few moments for Le Roux to call for René on the radio. Only to have his radio play nothing but dead air, not even static greeted him. Le Roux frowned and tried again, with the same result.

"Shit!" Le Roux snapped. "Die gevangenes is om te ontsnap!" _(The prisoners are escaping!)_

All four men sprinted from the room.

_Perfect timing, Tony._

He waited an extra moment to make sure the room was clear. Then he eased the vent cover aside and jumped into the room. The landing was a lot less graceful that it should have been and more jarring than he'd prefer, but it was the best he could do. He counted it as a win that he didn't collapse outright. He moved quickly to his weapons.

He shouldered his bow and his gun, wincing as the straps rubbed raw wounds and bruises. When his fingers wrapped around his bow, he felt a new surge of strength flow into him. They could do this. He wasn't alone. He had Tony; together they would get out of here. He eyed Tony's Iron Man Case. He couldn't leave it behind, but he couldn't carry it and fire his bow at the same time, either. He grabbed it anyway and carried it over to the table the map was on. He stared at it, finding first the original base location.

"2 mikes then left...30mph...3.5 mikes then right...20mph...1 mike then bridge for .75 mikes..." He traced the route on the map, doing the calculations easily. It only took him a few moments to find their current location. He grabbed a pen from the table and wrote the coordinates on his forearm. Then he caught sight of a few other markings on the map. Smirking, he folded the map and stuffed it into his pocket. It was only when the map was gone that he saw Tony's holoscreen phone lying abandon on the table, still waiting for a password to be entered.

Clint smiled and slipped it into his pocket. Then quickly, because he knew he wouldn't have much time before they narrowed down where he was, Clint slipped back into the vents. He pushed Tony's case ahead of him, struggling to stay as silent as before with his quiver and rifle digging into his back and his bow in his hand. He knew he was making noise, but the chaos that was developing below was doing a great job of masking it. He just had to get back to a less populated hallway before he left the air ducts. The building shook suddenly and Clint groaned, bracing himself against the edges of the air duct.

That didn't sound like a _re-calibrated_ HYDRA weapon.

* * *

Tony looked down at the HYDRA weapon, suddenly understanding why they'd created a new model. Re-calibrated or not, this thing was unstable. They obviously hadn't figured out the tesseract yet when they made this one. It had way too much energy flowing throughout it to be safe to use.

Tony would never underestimate the value of running tests again.

The guards in front of him _were _dead, but the entire wall behind them and the wall behind that were gone. Tony could actually see the forest through the large hole he'd created.

He scrambled through the first opening. No way was he using the gun again inside the building, not while Clint was crawling around in the vents. He _had_ distinctly asked Tony _not_ to bring the building down on his head. Tony figured he owed him at least that consideration.

He almost made it. He was thirty feet from the outer wall when bullets peppered the ground around him. He grunted in pain and stumbled to a stop when one of them ripped through his calf.

"Mr. Stark!"

He turned reluctantly.

Le Roux was behind him, half a dozen men flanking him with guns raised.

"It was a little stuffy...thought I'd pop a window." Tony shrugged. "Let me guess. I've worn out my welcome."

"Put down the weapon, Stark."

"Why would I do that?" Tony scoffed.

"Because if you don't, I'll have my men shoot you where you stand."

"Not if I shoot you first." Tony taunted.

"And risk bringing down a structure support?" Le Roux tisked. "With your companion Agent Barton still in the building, I doubt you'd risk it."

"So you haven't found him yet?" Tony grinned. "Something tells me he'll find you first...this whole killing people deal is kind of his thing...and he's scary good at it...oh wait...half your men already know that first hand."

"I may have underestimated Agent Barton's persistence, but trust me, Mr. Stark, I have not underestimated the man...He will be found and killed on sight."

"Let me know how that goes for you."

Tony would believe later that Clint had lent him some of the sixth sense the man seemed to have. Because he swore he could _feel_ the men behind him before he heard them.

Tony spun, firing the weapon. Three of the approaching guards were obliterated, and so was a large tree in the forest beyond. Two other men, charged at Tony. He hadn't spend the time since he'd become Iron Man in training for nothing. He'd always known one day he'd have to fight without the suit.

One of them kicked the HYDRA gun out of his hand, making it fire and take out the wall and half the ceiling to their left. Tony slammed his fist into the man's face, breaking his nose and sending blood spurting. The guy stumbled back, hand going to his face. Tony turned, blocking the punch aimed at him from the second man and delivering a hard hit to the man's ribs. Then he punched the man in the thigh and put him out of the fight with a hard punch to the temple. Mr. Broke Nose charged back at him and snapped his foot up into the man's chest. Then took two steps forward to slam his hand back into the broken nose. The man fell back, unconscious. Tony winced, regretting using his wounded leg. It had hurt more than he'd expected.

Two strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Wow," Tony gasped as he was lifted back off his feet, he caught sight of a large hulking man he'd seen standing with Le Roux. "You must work out...what can you press? 500...600?" He wheezed as the man squeezed him until his ribs creaked. Tony slammed his head back against the man's nose, felt it break, but the grip around him didn't even loosen.

_Alright, Clint...you were going to kill them all...so any time now would be a good time to start._

* * *

Clint froze during his careful maneuvering through the ducts. He heard voices approaching. Ever since the third time he'd heard the HYDRA gun discharge, the air ducts had been increasingly shaky, making his progress through them slow and careful. He peaked through the vent in front of him in time to see Roux stalked under his position. A very large man was forcing Tony along behind him.

"We'll take him to the garage...and somebody find Barton!" Le Roux snarled the second part at the small crowd of guards following him. White Hulk, Le Roux, and Tony headed towards the exit.

Clint offered a two fingered salute for the information and waited until Le Roux was out of sight before slithering towards the supply room he'd found earlier. The garage was a separate building. Clint had seen it when they'd been brought in. It looked like it used to be a barn of some sort, or a warehouse. Either way, he doubted anybody had taken the time to cover the high rafters with ceiling tiles. And as the sun set, all that could exist up there was shadows.

He couldn't have asked for a better hunting ground. He just had one little job to do first.

* * *

End of Chapter 8

Thanks for reading! Reviews make me happy!

Also, anybody that can translate into Hungarian and wants to help me out shoot me a PM! Thanks!

The next chapter is the last one for this story, but it is pretty long :) I hope everybody liked Tony kicking a little butt of his own.

Here's your preview!

* * *

_"You've been Hawkeyed." Tony announced, pulling their attention back to him. They all turned slowly. "But wait," Tony held up a hand, "it gets better…they say you don't hear the shot that kills you…what do you think that's still true when it's an arrow instead of a bullet?"_


	9. It's My Life

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except Le Roux and his henchmen. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

As always, very special thanks to **TuningMyViola** _for acting as South African consultant and Afrikaans translator for this story!_

_Continued thanks to _**Rain in the Dark**_ for agreeing to be my Russian translator in the future._

_Thank you to _**Khell**_ for volunteering to act as my translator for German in the future! :)_

_I've decided to go with Plan B on my next story, so no longer is a Hungarian translator needed. :)_

_Here is the last installment of Trust. Thank you so much for all the reviews and amazing compliments about this story. I had fun writing it and I hope everyone had fun reading it. Without further ado..._

* * *

_Last Time:_

_Clint offered a two fingered salute for the information and waited until Le Roux was out of site before slithering towards the supply room he'd found earlier. The garage was a separate building. Clint had seen it when they'd been brought in. It looked like it used to be a barn of some sort, or a warehouse. Either way, he doubted anybody had taken the time to cover the high rafters with ceiling tiles. And as the sun set, all that could exist up there was shadows._

_He couldn't have asked for a better hunting ground. He just had one little job to do first._

* * *

_The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. –Ernest Hemingway_

* * *

Clint pressed his back against the wall of the garage, counting on the shadows created by the setting sun to protect him from immediate discovery. He quietly tied one end of the rope he'd stolen from the supply room to the end of his grappling arrow and tied the other end to Tony's case. He notched the arrow in his bow. He pulled back, blinking sweat out of his eyes and ignoring the searing pain across his ribs and let the arrow fly. It caught the empty second story window with only a slight sound. He waited for a moment, to see if he would be discovered. Nobody came running around the side of the building, so he blew out a deep breath, slipped his bow string over his head, and wrapped his hands around the rope. He climbed, hand over hand, up the rope until he could pull himself up into the window.

It was agonizing, but letting go meant falling and leaving Tony to fend for himself. So he kept climbing.

It used to be a barn, he decided. And what used to be a loft, was now just rafters and beams, the loft floor long since destroyed. He slid through the window and balanced on the wooden rafters. He pulled his rope up after him and coiled it around his body, resting the Iron Man case on a beam against the wall. His skilled eyes found Tony sitting in a chair towards the entrance to the building. There were two trucks parked in the barn turned garage and an SUV. They would provide good cover if he had to go to the ground. He slid his rifle off his back and rested it in the rafters as well.

Finally ready, Clint licked his lips and pulled a small black device from his pocket. There was a red switch on its side and an identically colored button on its face. He silently crouched, bracing his back against the wall. Without hesitation, he flipped the switch and pressed the button. The sound of the explosion made him turn his head to the side, trying to dampen it if only somewhat.

The panic that erupted below him was _very_ satisfying.

* * *

Tony was lounging lazily in his small wooden chair, silently amused with how nervous his five guards were. All of them seemed ready to jump at the slightest shift in the shadows.

He hoped he was producing the nonchalant air he'd been going for. Because he felt anything but nonchalant. His calf was burning and blood hadn't stopped dripping out of it ever since the bullet had carved its tunnel. Le Roux's White Hulk had also had fun rearranging his face. Punishment for the broken nose, Tony supposed. As far as Tony could tell, nothing in his own face was broken, though. He'd always had a hard head.

Le Roux was pacing in front of the door, waiting to hear from his men that Clint had been captured or killed.

Tony knew that announcement would never come, because skulking around a base killing off bad guys was kind of his teammate's forte.

Tony was just as surprised as the rest of them by the explosion.

Le Roux ripped the door open, his men huddling behind him. They all watched slack jawed as their main building, and everyone in it went up in a ball of fire. The guards started shouting furiously about demons, which was all Tony could really glean from the rapidly spoken words. And only that much because he'd heard them use the terms many times by the recently deceased Johan when referring to his feathered teammate.

While they were at the door, a familiar red and gold case lowered from the ceiling, landing silently on the ground in front of Tony. He grinned, quickly untying the rope and sliding the case under his chair and hiding it as best he could with his legs. The rope slithered back up into the ceiling.

"You've been Hawkeyed." Tony announced, pulling their attention back to him. They all turned slowly. "But wait," Tony held up a hand, "it gets better…they say you don't hear the shot that kills you...do you think that's still true when it's an arrow instead of a bullet?"

As if on cue, a black arrow tore through one of the guard's throat.

"In die plafon!" _(In the ceiling!)_ Le Roux shouted.

The remaining four guards raised their automatic rifles and fired into the rafters. Tony smirked as a shadow flipped and danced across the space above them, seemingly undaunted by the bullets peppering the air around it.

_"Laugh it up Iron Ass, but me being able to do that," Clint pointed to the ceiling, "Will save your life someday."_

Tony smiled at the memory. He was _almost_ looking forward to being told "I told you so." He used the distraction his friend was creating to lay the case in front of him and start the process.

A second arrow felled another guard. Now there was only the White Hulk, two other guards, and Le Roux left.

Clint's shadow disappeared back into the darkness of the rafters. It was then that Le Roux turned and saw Tony, fully suited up.

"No!" Le Roux shouted.

His three men spun, firing their weapons immediately. They stopped after only a moment when they realized it was useless. The silence that followed was deafening. It was broken a few moments later by a familiar voice taunting Le Roux from the darkness.

"I tried to warn you, Le Roux...I told you this would happen."

Clint emerged from the shadows like some sort of dark warrior, arrow notched. Tony blasted the nearest guard even as an arrow killed another. Now it was just the gigantor and Le Roux.

The large man raised his gun only to have it blasted out of his hand.

Iron man shook a finger at him.

"No no…play time is over."

The man tried to pull his side arm anyway and before Tony could blast him, an arrow tore into his neck.

"Nice shot." Tony turned to Clint, who was lowering his bow. The archer nodded towards something behind Tony.

"Uh…Tony…"

"What?" Tony turned to see Le Roux trying to flee. "Oh right…I got this one, buddy." Tony flew the few feet between himself and the man who had started all of this. "Where do you think you're going?" He asked before driving his fist into the man's temple.

Le Roux dropped, out cold.

"Well go team." Tony grinned behind his mask. He turned to Clint, ready to celebrate their victory, only to find the man leaning heavily against one of the trucks. "Clint?" He questioned, reaching him in three long strides.

"I'm good…I'm good…just need to rest a second…adrenaline is wearing off is all." Clint assured, pressing his hand against his side.

"Well sitting down is a good way to do that." Tony suggested. "Jarvis, get me Fury." He instructed he helped Clint slide to the ground and rest against the wheel of the truck.

"_Yes, Mr. Stark…it is good to hear from you, the atmosphere at Stark Tower has been incredibly frantic as of late."_

"I'll bet it has." Tony grumbled, waiting for his line with Fury to connect. "We did it, buddy." Tony grinned. "Well _you_ mostly did it, but I like to think I played an integral part to the whole plan."

"You're the one that got their comms down...distracted them _very_ effectively so they didn't kill me while I got this," Clint slid the folded map out of his pocket.

Tony grinned.

"The weapons locations."

"Got it in one, Stark." Clint smiled. "With Le Roux out of the picture, this is what we call a completed mission...you even managed to get that thing working."Clint reminded with a nod towards the HYDRA gun on the hood of one of the trucks. "_Fury_ might even be impressed...so rest assured...you were a very integral part to the plan." He assured. He fished into his pocket for something else. "I also found something you might want back."

Tony couldn't help but smile as the archer produced his phone.

"It's one of a kind." The genius reminded, clearing his throat of the unexpected emotion that choked it. It was a small thing, in light of the last few days, but it was significant none the less.

"Yeah…kind of fits its owner, if you ask me." Clint grinned wearily.

"Now who's complimenting out of turn." Tony mock frowned, stiffening when Fury suddenly spoke in his ear.

"_Stark! What the hell is going on? I want a full report!"_

"No time for that, love bug, lets settle for an evacuation ASAP."

Clint raised his arm, pointing at the coordinates he'd written, before quickly returning his hand to his side.

Tony rattled off the coordinates immediately.

"_Is there a reason you're calling me, Stark? Why not the Base Operator down there?"_

"That leak you were worried about," Tony sighed, "Sold us out…we don't know who we can trust here."

"_Understood…I'll have a chopper there in 20 minutes…where's Barton?"_

"He's here," Tony replied, glancing down at his friend with a grin.

He froze.

Clint was blinking sluggishly, and his hand had fallen away from his side. Where Tony had thought he'd been supporting his broken ribs, he'd been covering a bullet wound instead. A bullet wound that had painted his side and the ground beneath him red.

_Of all the stupid things not to mention..._

"Clint?" Tony reached for his shoulder, shaking him as roughly as he dared.

"_Stark, what's wrong?"_

"Barton's wounded, we need that evacuation _now_." Tony snapped, looking around for anything to stop the blood flow.

"_It's on its way, but it can only get there so fast."_ Fury replied. _"Stark…how bad?"_

"He's shot. I don't know, Fury…it's been a hell of a couple days."

"_Barton's as stubborn as they come…this is one of the few situations where that's a good thing...keep him awake and he'll do the rest."_

"Just get someone here."

Tony disconnected the call and slid the helmet of the suit back, so he could look Clint in the eye.

"Hey! Barton! Stay awake!" Tony snapped.

"I'm awake...and it's Clint, now...remember?" Clint mumbled, blinking wearily at him. The unfocused gaze sharpened suddenly. "You're hurt." He frowned.

"I didn't like the way my face was arranged anyway." Tony shrugged the bruises and cuts on his face away and redirecting instead, "Why didn't you say something about the bullet in your side, huh, _Clint_? That's the kind of thing you're supposed to share with the class."

"I can take it." Clint breathed, hissing as Tony forced him to press his own hand against his wound again.

"What is that? Like, your catch phrase?" Tony teased, "I ought to get it on a shirt for you." He forced a light laugh as he held Clint's hand against the bullet hole.

"I'd wear that." Clint grinned a little.

"Consider it done." Tony decided. "Hey, why don't you tell me about a mission you went on where you _didn't_ get tortured or injured in any way?"

"Zurich, '09." Clint replied after a moment's thought.

"What, is that the only one?" Tony frowned, "That can't be the only one."

"Um…Milan, '07…"

"Okay…two is a start…we need to work on that record, buddy…that can't be healthy."

"Could be worse." Clint shrugged minutely.

"Really? How do you figure?"

"I could've been killed a whole lot sooner than now."

"You say that like you're planning on checking out of the game, Clint…you can't do that, not right now."

"Don't make plans, Tony, remember?"

"Well you can _plan_ to stick around. I'm not going to be the one to explain to Romanoff why I let you get yourself killed."

Clint managed a small smile.

"She'd be pissed."

"Yeah…she'd probably drag your ass out of hell just so she could send you back."

"She'd never forgive me for leaving her." Clint sighed.

"Then don't leave." Tony demanded seriously. Recognizing his friend didn't have 20 minutes to wait. He slid the helmet back into place. "And don't ever take a job in South Africa again."

Clint's lips curled up slightly at that. He'd thought that same thing several times over the last few days.

He heard Tony call his name, but didn't have the strength to respond anymore. His body rarely reached a point where it decided it had had enough. This, apparently, was one of those points. Two days of torture and a heavily bleeding gunshot wound weren't a good mix. Not in this country. He was beginning to think South Africa really did have it out for him.

He felt something hard slip behind his back and under his knees, but couldn't process what it was.

His last thought, as he drifted into unconsciousness, was that Natasha was going to kill him for getting shot _again_.

* * *

Clint woke on something not exactly soft, but not exactly hard. He'd been on SHIELD infirmary mattresses enough to recognize them. The fever that had plagued him for so long was gone. The constant pain in his side was muted and he could breath, not quite easily, but not with the same difficulty as before. The bullet wound emanated no more than a dull ache.

_Damned drugs_.

Pain kept him sharp and focused. He blamed those drugs for the fact that he didn't notice the people in the room until one of them spoke.

"Stop playing possum, Feather Head."

Tony. Right.

Clint opened his eyes, blinking at the harsh lights of the infirmary room.

"Welcome back…I told the doctors you did this all the time and not to be concerned, but they ignored me."

Instead of responding, Clint slowly pushed himself up so he wasn't flat on his back anymore. He assessed Tony with his eyes, taking in the dark bruising on his face and the stitched cut on his cheekbone.

"If you're wondering how I managed to get away mostly unscathed, you can blame yourself."

Clint blinked, reaching for his IV.

"You know there are these amazing things called _words_…I've been told even you know how to use them." Tony mused, watching with interest as Clint freed himself from the many things entangling him to the bed.

"How long?" His voice came out gravely and rough.

"Three days."

Clint arched an eyebrow. It could be worse and that explained why his throat felt like sandpaper. He slowly eased himself into an upright position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It was then that he saw Pepper sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Clint's head swiveled, staring wide eyed at Bruce as he walked into the room. He was about to ask when the doctor got there, but he noticed the guards standing at the door before the words made it to his mouth.

"What's going on?" Clint demanded.

"Collins ran…'went to ground' was the term Fury kept using…apparently we weren't supposed to come back from our little foray into hell." Tony answered as Bruce forced Clint back into bed. It was unreasonably easy, and again, Clint blamed the drugs. And the fact that 'swiveling' his head was too much movement at this juncture.

"And the guards?"

"You and I are the only witnesses to what Collins has been up to…I hacked his network and Fury's guys are looking for evidence and it's taking a while...apparently Collins _wasn't_ stupid, no matter what his behavior dictates." Tony informed as he leafed through Clint's chart. "They even redact your medical history…seems like overkill." He mused.

"Natasha and Steve are on their way… their flight should land within the hour." Bruce announced once he had Clint's IV back in place.

"Does she know I got shot?" Clint demanded.

"Yeah, I gave her and Steve the fully low down." Bruce replied.

"Shit."

"You're gonna be in so much trouble." Tony grinned mockingly. Clint glared and changed the subject.

"They think Collins will make a move?" He guessed at the reason he had armed guards posted at his door.

"It's just a precaution," Bruce assured, "they don't know if he had anybody working with him."

Clint nodded, sinking back into his pillows, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Le Roux?"

"In holding." Tony assured. He was confused when Clint's eyes widened.

"He should be dead...he _needs_ to be dead. That was the mission."

"Clint...Fury is _more_ than satisfied with having him in custody, having the HYDRA weapon, and having that map...he even told me good job."

"But Le Roux..." Clint argued, frowning at Bruce when he suddenly felt his eyes drooping. The man moved his hand away from the morphine drip without a hint of remorse on his face.

"Sleep, Clint…we've got your back…you can stand down now." Tony assured quietly. Clint thought he might have nodded again, but he was asleep before he could be sure.

"What the hell happened out there?" Bruce asked Tony quietly, not for the first time.

"A little of this, a little of that…run of the mill covert super spy stuff."

"Run of the mill?" Bruce challenged, shooting a meaningful look at the formerly half dead agent between them.

"Yeah…concerning isn't it." Tony mused as he worked on his laptop. Bruce sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. Tony kept clicking away; trying to dig up evidence of Collin's betraying SHIELD. Fury may have techs doing it, but Tony wanted to make sure they didn't miss anything. Collins wasn't getting away, not after all this. Not after he'd watched Clint get tortured for two days and then had to fly him bridal style back to the SHIELD base so he didn't bleed to death.

Collins was getting buried. Tony would make sure of it.

* * *

"How much longer." Natasha snapped at the pilot.

"Ten minutes." The man replied with a sigh. It hadn't been the first time she'd asked.

"We're almost there, Natasha." Steve assured quietly. "And Bruce said Clint was going to be fine."

"I know that!" She nearly snarled. She just needed to see him for herself that was all.

They'd gotten back from Kiev to find Stark Tower empty of everyone but Jarvis. It hadn't taken Natasha long to get Fury on the phone and find out what happened. They'd been on the next flight out of the country.

Natasha, who had been the very picture of calm throughout the entire mission in Kiev, hadn't been able to sit still for the entire flight. She'd asked the pilot two dozen times how much longer until their flight landed. Steve had reminded her, many times, that Bruce had called before their flight took off to tell them that Clint would be fine. He was out of the woods, and should wake up soon. That hadn't helped calm the master assassin, though. If anything, it had made her more anxious to get to her partner's side.

Steve couldn't deny, as he watched the SHIELD base in South Africa come into view, that he hadn't been able to push the worry from his mind either since Fury had given them the basics of the situation. Even Bruce's call hadn't helped. Nothing about Clint and Tony being captured, the archer tortured, shot and unconscious was anywhere close to putting his mind at ease. Out of the woods or not.

Natasha was out of the jet before the bay doors had even fully opened. Steve was hot on her heels as they tore through the South African SHIELD base and headed to the infirmary.

* * *

Tony looked up from his laptop when Clint shifted suddenly.

"Tasha." The archer breathed, his storm colored eyes opening and turning towards the door a moment before the black clad, fire haired assassin came into view. A cold glare kept the guards from checking her ID. Steve was following behind her, offering an apologetic smile as he too, moved past them without explanation.

"Clint." Natasha was at his side in a blur of motion. Her hand went to his hair as she leaned to meet his eyes.

"Danko?" he asked immediately, his eyes surveying her for any obvious injuries.

"Dealt with." She assured with a cocky smirk. Clint grinned, shifting a little where he had curled onto his uninjured side.

"With prejudice?" He asked.

"Of course." Natasha grinned, her eyes tracking the bruises on his face and his exposed torso. Her jaw clenched at the multiple white bandages taped over what she knew to be minor electrical burns. Her lips pressed together at the sight of the thick bandage on his side with a light red stain bleeding through the center of it.

"If I could find a part of you that didn't look injured, I'd hit you right now for getting shot _again_." She hissed angrily, her eyes dark. "мудак."

"Tasha…I'm good, I swear." He defended, wincing a little at the nasty name. She was pissed at him. He must have really scared her.

"You're not _good_." She snapped. Her dark glare turned to Tony, who held his hands up in defense.

"Hey, the whole get captured on purpose thing was _his_ idea…I was strongly against it."

"Thank you." She stated sharply and unpredictably.

Tony blinked.

"For what?"

"For not letting this идиот go alone and get himself killed." She turned her glare to Clint, who shrugged unconcerned. Идиот was one of her nicer Russian insults, so she was calming down.

"I'm glad you're okay, Clint." Steve spoke up from where he stood at the foot of the bed.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking...what the hell?" Tony sat up suddenly, typing furiously on his laptop.

"What is it?" Clint demanded, instantly alert. Natasha pushed him back down into his pillows.

"Somebody is clearing out Collins' hard drive…"

"Can you stop it?" Bruce questioned.

"If I could stop it, I would have just _done_ that…" Tony drawled. "And the expletive would have been unnecessary."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You'd couldn't do that remotely, could you?" Clint asked, bracing his hand against his side as he shifted.

"No." Tony assured, still typing furiously. He froze abruptly, wide eyes rising to look at Clint.

"Well_ go_." Clint motioned towards the door. "Or do I have to do all the work?"

"He has to be on the base." Tony informed the rest of the team.

"Let's move…Natasha…" Steve turned to the red head.

"I'm staying here." She decided, her hand white around the rail of Clint's bed.

Steve nodded, leading the rest of the group out of the room, except for Pepper who slept on unaware in her chair.

"Tasha…" Clint pushed himself up, pulling out his IV. "My bow…"

"Where is it?" She demanded, putting a hand under his elbow to help him stand.

"Under the mattress."

Natasha didn't hesitate in lifting the mattress and pulling out his bow. She didn't ask how he slept with it making the mattress lumpy. She knew he felt safer with it nearby.

"Arrows?" She questioned.

"Some loose ones under the pillows…quiver's in the closet."He replied, wincing as he made his way to the door. She helped him slide his quiver strap over his head.

"Can you do use this with broken ribs and a bullet wound?" She questioned, moving over to Pepper. She arched an eyebrow at the look he gave her. "Forget I asked." She really should have known better, she admitted to herself ruefully.

Natasha quietly woke Pepper and told her the situation, instructing her firmly to stay in this room. Then she was at Clint's side, listening as he ordered the guards not to let anyone but an Avenger or Fury through that door.

They moved as one, skulking through the halls, covering each other as they cleared room by room.

"You think Collins will get past them?" Natasha murmured as she peaked around a corner. Her partner was leaning against the wall next to her, breathing heavily and sweating.

"I think they've got Collins more than covered…it's Le Roux I'm worried about." Clint replied, trying to keep his hands from shaking where they held an arrow notched.

"You think he's still a threat?"

"The guy knows Fourie, Tasha…I'm going to assume the worst in everything about him until proven otherwise."

Natasha blinked at that.

"Was he in contact with him?" She demanded.

"I don't know." He admitted, "But he had been at some point...we need to get to holding." Clint decided, running through the building schematics in his head.

"Which way?" Natasha demanded, knowing he'd have memorized the building layout before he ever stepped foot in it.

He pointed and moved; she followed closely at his back.

* * *

Tony, Steve, and Bruce slowed to a stop outside Collins' closed office door.

"He's still there..." Tony whispered, "Files are still disappearing." He was studying the screen of his phone, typing things rapidly.

"Let's get him." Steve started forward, but Tony stopped him.

"Wait...I got this...if you'll just get the door."

Steve hesitated before nodding. He stepped back, bracing himself. Then slammed his foot into the door. It burst out of its frame, splintering to the ground. Tony strode into the room, where Collins was staring wide eyed.

"Hi there." Tony smiled widely. "It's the damndest thing...I was going through your computer..." He held up his phone for emphasis, "and found an interesting compilation of deleted _and_ encrypted files...I haven't decrypted them yet...but something tells me you won't like what I find."

"I wiped the hard drive...even the deleted files are gone." Collins shot back, raising his side arm to point at Tony. "You don't have anything."

"Oh no?" Tony ignored the gun and held his phone out flat, tapping the screen so a file was projected into the open space above it. "You don't try to out tech the guy who defines modern technology...I had this saved to my own mobile network as soon as I found it...you're done Collins."

Collins eyes bulged and he looked momentarily manic.

"_You_ were supposed to die out there...I was supposed to just walk away." He waved his gun threateningly.

"Well that plan is off the table...and stop waving that thing around...what are you going to do, _shoot me? _I've got a green friend in the hall that won't take that too well...and let's just say, you won't like how he reacts."

As if on cue, Bruce and Steve stepped into the room.

"You're under arrest, Collins." Steve informed, moving to take the gun from Collins limp grasp and restrain him.

"Nice job, Tony." Bruce praised.

"I am getting better at this super spy thing...now we best get to the holding cells before Barton collapses."

"What?" Steve asked wide eyed.

"You really bought that whole weak as a kitten, going to stay in bed, crap... guaranteed he was headed for Le Roux the moment we left. That guy doesn't leave a mission unfinished."

"Let's go." Steve instructed.

"Just one thing first." Tony stepped up to the restrained Collins and punched him square in the nose. The man stumbled back a step, wavered, and then collapsed unconscious, his broken nose bleeding down his chin.

* * *

Clint let Natasha take the lead once they had the holding cells in sight. Getting up and going on this excursion less than an hour after waking from a three day coma wasn't his brightest idea. The only reason his hands weren't shaking was through pure force of will. But his head was pounding, reminding him he was recovering from a fairly serious concussion. The sheer energy it took just to breathe reminded him he had broken ribs, the exact number of which he wasn't entirely sure. And on top of that, he'd been shot, beaten and electrocuted. If there was ever a time he was okay with her taking the lead, it was now.

Because the only word he could think of to describe how he felt right now…was shit. Shit that had been shot, beaten, and electrocuted.

Natasha spun over to the opposite side of the door, motioning him that they'd move on the count of three. He nodded, putting his hand on the door handle. She counted down with her fingers, and he pulled the door open. She led the way, gun up. He was behind her a second later, bow drawn and pointing at Le Roux's heart.

"Don't move." Natasha snarled, her eyes promising death if disobeyed. Le Roux stood frozen behind the bars of his cell; his former SHIELD guard was propped against the bars at his feet, neck broken.

The Russian assassin trained her gun on Le Roux's forehead. This was the man that had put Clint into a three day coma. The man that had taken pleasure in causing him pain. The reason that his breaths were coming in sharp, labored gasps right now and sweat was dripping in rivers down his face and chest. The reason the bandage over his bullet wound was soaked through with blood. She almost pulled the trigger right then.

"Tasha, cameras." Clint warned, reading her thoughts.

"Looking a little weak, Agent Barton. Did my hospitality not agree with you?" Le Roux taunted.

"Just give me a god damned reason, Shit Head." Clint snarled. "Hell, I'd settle for half a reason."

"I'd settle for the thought of a reason." Natasha added with a predatory arch to her eyebrow.

"Tasha," Clint smirked, "do you feel threatened by this man?"

"Immensely." She answered without missing a beat.

"Sounds like due cause to put an arrow through your heart…" Clint shrugged slightly, glaring at Le Roux. "I've got to protect my partner."

"You do not look like you have the strength to shoot me." Le Roux snarled. Clint's eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you ask your dead friends how strong I need to be?"

"I see now why Fourie calls you a demon." Le Roux hissed. "You hide in the shadow and kill from afar… lafaard."

_Coward._

Natasha's eyes darkened.

"I changed my mind, Tasha, screw the cameras…let's shoot the bastard." Clint growled.

"Fine by me…looks to me like he's about to go for that dead guard's gun." She smiled darkly.

"Nobody will believe you…" Le Roux pointed out with the smirk of a man who thought he'd won. "I am still behind these bars...I am no threat and the cameras will prove it...you'll be murders."

"I've been worse." Natasha hissed, nodding at Clint that she would back his play.

"I just have one question." Clint looked at the man intensely. "Fourie?"

Le Roux smirked.

"Knew the moment you landed."

Clint's heart rate rocketed, increasing the pounding in his head.

"He sends his regards…says he's watching and he'll see you soon." Le Roux added. The words were barely out of his mouth before a bullet ripped into his forehead. An arrow stopped his heart from beating in the same breath.

"You can send my regards when you see him in hell." Clint instructed darkly. He glanced at Natasha, who had already holstered her gun. "Gonna be hard to explain."

"He should have kept his mouth shut." She defended, glancing at the cameras.

"Good thing we know a guy that can hack anything…hopefully Tony will help us out."

"Tony?" She quirked an eyebrow at the usage of the other man's first name.

"Long story." He sighed.

"You can tell me later, мой сокол." (_my hawk)_ She allowed, coming to his side and pulling his arm over her shoulders. She was immediately concerned when she had to take more of his weight than she'd expected. His body was too hot against her side. The fever Bruce had said was gone, was apparently trying for a repeat performance.

"Why do you two get to have all the fun?" Tony complained as he stepped into the room. "Guess we can call this case closed," He clapped his hands together, "We got Collins...do you want to kill him too, or are you good now?" He smirked.

"You killed him?" Steve asked frowning thoughtfully as he, too, joined them.

"No choice." Natasha snapped, daring him to argue.

"Self defense all the way, Cap." Clint backed her up.

He looked back and forth between them, his heart at war with his mind. One look at the way Clint was almost fully supported by Natasha ended the battle.

"It's unfortunate, then, that the camera footage was destroyed. Wouldn't you say, Tony?" Steve glanced at the genius meaningfully. The billionaire smirked, phone already in hand.

"Very unfortunate."

* * *

_3 weeks later…_

"Steak!" Bruce voted.

"Lasagna!" Steve tossed out, leaning over the counter as if his closer proximity would influence Clint to go with his choice.

"Burgers." Tony piped up.

"Spaghetti!" Pepper chirped happily, ignoring Tony's eye roll.

"He made you spaghetti _yesterday._" Tony reminded.

Natasha leaned into Clint's space and kissed him deeply.

"Enchiladas." She purred.

"I was craving some Mexican." Clint smirked.

"Why do we even bother suggesting anything?" Tony threw his hands up in frustration. "I mean, come on, Clint, I thought we bonded? All that near death stuff…and whatever."

"I was the one near death, not you." Clint arched an eyebrow.

"It was a close call for all of us...and emotional roller coaster of sorts. What with all that bonding and trying to keep you from dying." Tony insisted, then he straightened, "The food will be done in time for movie night right?" Tony asked in concern. "This is the night your cinema education begins after all."

"Tony," Clint sighed, "You _own _Top Gun. We can start it whenever we want."

"But that defeats the whole purpose of setting a show time."

"And that's why I told you a show time was stupid." Clint shot back, silencing Tony's reply with a look.

He moved gingerly over to the pantry, searching for the proper ingredients. Steve was at his side in seconds, obediently reaching for things as Clint pointed them out. Natasha started cleaning the chicken the way Clint had showed her with Pepper chattering happily next to her. Bruce opened the fridge, looking to the archer for instructions on what to get.

"Tony!" Clint called from where he'd moved over to help Bruce at the fridge.

The billionaire looked up in time to catch a bottle of beer flying towards his face. He caught it easily, arching an eyebrow. Clint held up a bottle of his own, tipping it slightly in silent salute. Tony returned the gesture with a grin. He used the counter to remove his cap and took a drink. Clint was about to do the same when Natasha was suddenly next to him, pulling it out of his hand.

"You're still on meds." She scolded. "I _however_ am not." She grinned, raising the bottle to Tony and taking a drink herself. Tony laughed.

"And that's what they call whipped…and by the way, I'm so _never_ going back to South Africa."

He got a chorus of affirmations and agreements from around the kitchen.

Clint moved carefully over to lean against the counter next to Tony, having assigned everybody temporary jobs in the meal prep. Tony smiled at the archer's black t-shirt with "I can take it." written in scrawly neon purple letters across the front and a screen printed quiver stretched across the back in the same color.

"Have the figured out where Le Roux got the HYDRA weapon yet?" Tony asked curiously.

"Well according to the diary they found on Le Roux..."

"He had a diary?"

"He labeled it his memoirs...You don't want to know where they found it." Clint shuddered, "Anyways...when he said a contact in Germany, he failed to mention that it was his father's contact from back in World War Two. Le Roux's pop sided with the Nazi's and wanted to get in on the ground floor of HYDRA distribution...the weapon has been in South Africa for decades, lost in one of Le Roux Seniors weapons stashes in Namibia. Le Roux found it six months ago. Fury's got a team looking into other possible stashes in Namibia." Clint shrugged as if the information didn't really mean much to him.

"How does he know Fourie? Did his memoirs mention that?" Tony asked seriously. He didn't know who this Fourie guy was, or what Clint had done to merit the guy's hate. But anybody that put a man like Clint Barton on edge like Fourie did was worth avoiding.

"Apparently they know each other because Le Roux uses Fourie's ships to move weapons." Clint replied, his voice tense.

"I'll hack SHIELD again. Get a list of the guy's aliases and his picture. I can create a program to let us know if he sets foot in the country."

Clint smiled at Tony's protectiveness.

"You don't need to hack SHIELD again. Fury warned you about that. Besides, I know all of his aliases and have his picture."

Tony gave him a wary glance. Clint was, by far, the most mysterious and paranoid person he'd ever met. Except for maybe Romanoff, but he was too scared of her to try and figure out any of her mystery. He took a drink from his beer and changed the subject.

"So, Big Bird...I've got our Iron Man-Hawkeye theme song."

"Why can't it be Hawkeye-Iron Man?" Clint countered, sipping his orange juice Natasha had given him to replace his confiscated beer.

"Semantics..." Tony waved his concern away.

"What is it?"

"Trust me...you're gonna love it."

* * *

_Undisclosed Location_

_South African Coast_

Josia Fourie stalked into a small dark room, lit only by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"Show me." He growled, using English because it was the only language his associate knew.

"These were taken three weeks ago."

He held out a small stack of 8x10 photographs. Fourie flipped through them quickly, stopping on the last one. His countenance darkened.

"Is this all?" He snarled angrily. Three week old photos of Clint Barton boarding a jet to leave South Africa did him no good.

"These," The man held out another stack of photos, "were taken a week ago."

Fourie smiled darkly, as he stared at several photos of Clint Barton leaving what looked like a SHIELD compound. In a few of the photos he was alone, but in most of them, he had the famous Black Widow walking closely with him.

"Where?" He demanded.

"The compound is in upstate New York…we don't know where he's living…he could be in the city or in the country…we just don't know."

"You have done well." Fourie praised roughly, stepping farther into the light, revealing a harsh dark scar on his neck from an arrow that should have killed him over three years ago. "But your services are no longer needed." Without another word, he struck out with a knife, stabbing it into the man's throat.

As the man fell to the ground gurgling, Fourie spread the photos out on the table against the wall. He focused in on a close up of Clint Barton's face as he looked over his shoulder while boarding a jet to leave South Africa. It was as if the man felt he was being watched. Fourie had no doubt he did. Abruptly, he stabbed his bloody knife into Clint's forehead.

"We will meet again, duiwel…and I will take your life as you took my fathers."

Fourie gathered the photos, sheathing his knife. He would bide his time, and when the moment was right, he would have his revenge.

* * *

End of Trust

That was the longest chapter I'd written yet. I just couldn't find a place I wanted to break it up that would make one of the chapters much shorter, so you got the whole thing :)

**Shahar Mystral **provided the history lesson about South Africa and WWII mentioned by Clint. Apparently there were many South Africans that sided with Germany during WWII and made the trek to German South West Africa, which is modern day Namibia. As you remember, this is where Le Roux's father had his weapon stashes.

The Hawkeye-Iron Man (or Iron Man-Hawkeye) theme song is hidden (not very subtly) in the chapter titles :) Give it a listen and be inspired...PM me if you can't figure it out :)

Those who are now vainly wishing they'd voted for the sequel to Trust as my next story, don't be too dismayed. It will come eventually! In it, we will find out what went down with the original Fourie mission. When it comes, it will be entitled "The Heart Bleeds". The poll decided which story would be next and I'm also using it to determine the order I do the rest of the stories in :) That process keeps me from being ADD with my ideas and forces me to stay focused on one story at a time.

Now my next story _is_ in the works! However, I am leaving for a week of much needed vacation Friday! There's no internet where I'm going so I won't be able to post until I get back :( But I intend to finish my next story and hopefully most of the following one as well, so I'll stay productive:)

Without further gilding of the lily and with no more ado (hugs if you can figure out what movie that's from)

I give you the summary for "Youngest in History"

* * *

_18 year old Clint Barton was lost. Known only by Hawkeye since his escape from military prison, he works as a deadly assassin for hire. But an unpredicted betrayal and an unexpected offer bring him to SHIELD. And Agent Phil Coulson will volunteer to take on the daunting task of rescuing Clint from his own darkness...and will end up giving the young archer the most valuable gift in the process...hope._


End file.
